#we have nothing to rebel against

[arctic-hands]

😥 does anyone else remember HospitalGlam? I just checked the tag and I'm literally the only person who's been posting in it since like last year and even then it was one photo from someone else and the first other person before that was from twenty twenty-one

[ranger-crisis]

I do like that Withers does act like Jergal. My man stepped down from his position and gave his shit to the dead three because he was bored and tired of his job.

[brandyschillace]

The Forgotten History of the World’s First Transgender Clinic

I finished the first round of edits on my nonfiction history of trans rights today. It will publish with Norton in 2025, but I decided, because I feel so much of my community is here, to provide a bit of the introduction.

[begin sample]

The Institute for Sexual Sciences had offered safe haven to homosexuals and those we today consider transgender for nearly two decades. It had been built on scientific and humanitarian principles established at the end of the 19th century and which blossomed into the sexology of the early 20th. Founded by Magnus Hirschfeld, a Jewish homosexual, the Institute supported tolerance, feminism, diversity, and science. As a result, it became a chief target for Nazi destruction: “It is our pride,” they declared, to strike a blow against the Institute. As for Magnus Hirschfeld, Hitler would label him the “most dangerous Jew in Germany.”6 It was his face Hitler put on his antisemitic propaganda; his likeness that became a target; his bust committed to the flames on the Opernplatz. You have seen the images. You have watched the towering inferno that roared into the night. The burning of Hirschfeld’s library has been immortalized on film reels and in photographs, representative of the Nazi imperative, symbolic of all they would destroy. Yet few remember what they were burning—or why.

Magnus Hirschfeld had built his Institute on powerful ideas, yet in their infancy: that sex and gender characteristics existed upon a vast spectrum, that people could be born this way, and that, as with any other diversity of nature, these identities should be accepted. He would call them Intermediaries.

Intermediaries carried no stigma and no shame; these sexual and Gender nonconformists had a right to live, a right to thrive. They also had a right to joy. Science would lead the way, but this history unfolds as an interwar thriller—patients and physicians risking their lives to be seen and heard even as Hitler began his rise to power. Many weren’t famous; their lives haven’t been celebrated in fiction or film. Born into a late-nineteenth-century world steeped in the “deep anxieties of men about the shifting work, social roles, and power of men over women,” they came into her own just as sexual science entered the crosshairs of prejudice and hate. The Institute’s own community faced abuse, blackmail, and political machinations; they responded with secret publishing campaigns, leaflet drops, pro-homosexual propaganda, and alignments with rebel factions of Berlin’s literati. They also developed groundbreaking gender affirmation surgeries and the first hormone cocktail for supportive gender therapy.

Nothing like the Institute for Sexual Sciences had ever existed before it opened its doors—and despite a hundred years of progress, there has been nothing like it since. Retrieving this tale has been an exercise in pursuing history at its edges and fringes, in ephemera and letters, in medal texts, in translations. Understanding why it became such a target for hatred tells us everything about our present moment, about a world that has not made peace with difference, that still refuses the light of scientific evidence most especially as it concerns sexual and reproductive rights.

[end sample]

I wanted to add a note here: so many people have come together to make this possible. Like Ralf Dose of the Magnus-Hirschfeld-Gesellschaft (Magnus Hirschfeld Archive), Berlin, and Erin Reed, American journalist and transgender rights activist—Katie Sutton, Heike Bauer. I am also deeply indebted to historian, filmmaker and formative theorist Susan Stryker for her feedback, scholarship, and encouragement all along the way. And Laura Helmuth, editor of Scientific American, whose enthusiasm for a short article helped bring the book into being. So many LGBTQ+ historians, archivists, librarians, and activists made the work possible, that its publication testifies to the power of the queer community and its dedication to preserving and celebrating history. But I ALSO want to mention you, folks here on tumblr who have watched and encouraged and supported over the 18 months it took to write it (among other books and projects). @neil-gaiman has been especially wonderful, and @always-coffee too: thank you.

The support of this community has been important as I’ve faced backlash in other quarters. Thank you, all.

NOTE: they are attempting to rebuild the lost library, and you can help: https://magnus-hirschfeld.de/archivzentrum/archive-center/

[pellucid-constellations]

A Promise

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: As war inches closer on the horizon, Azriel reminds you of a promise you made to him—one you aren't sure you can keep.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Angst <3

a/n: Hi I haven't written in a few WEEKS (sorry) 😭 Here's this to get me back in the swing of things

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“Promise me you’ll run,” Azriel pleaded, his forehead resting against yours. “Anything happens up here and you flee. Promise me.” 

You fought the instinctual shake of your head, always so quick to reassure him—to tell him that nothing would happen. But you couldn’t promise that. Not with a war raging in the distance and you within its throes. 

“I can’t run,” you whispered. “I have an obligation, a duty. I can’t.” 

Azriel’s breath came out as a sharp exhale, the warm air brushing your jaw as he turned his head to your temple. His hands fought for the purchase of your waist, pulling you close until your bodies melded. 

He stayed silent, but you could feel the turmoil heaving down the bond in heavy ropes. Someone called for buckets of water on the opposite side of the camp. Azriel remained pressed against you, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed. 

“I’m sorry, Azriel.” 

You had told him you wouldn’t be part of this war. But it came on suddenly, unexpectedly, and you couldn’t refuse the High Lord’s request. Your gift was too valuable to stay locked up in Velaris when Autumn and Spring were rebelling against the masses. How could you not aid your mate in this fight?

“We haven’t had enough time,” Azriel croaked.

Something within you fractured and you turned to meet his gaze—to coax his eyes open and capture the full picture of his features. “We will have so much more time, my love. This won’t go the way that you think.”

But you had no gift of clairvoyance, and you’d never fought in a war before. With your hands pressed to Azriel’s cheeks and your head tilted to catch his eyes, you wondered what could have happened in the wars he had fought to cause him so much strife. 

You counted his family members in your head—all alive, none lost to war. 

Nothing to match the tortured expression staring back at you. 

“Me first,” he spoke, so low it was almost lost in the bustle of the camp. “When we die. It’ll be me first.” 

Your brows came together with a sigh. “Azriel—” 

“No,” he countered. He brushed your hands from his face and backed you up until you were behind your tent, a tree meeting your shoulder blades. Azriel’s feet slotted between yours as he bent down. His eyes raced between yours. “I die first. You agreed to that.” 

“There’s no way I could really—” 

“You agreed.” 

You bit into your lip, ignoring the vice-like grip your mate had on the sleeve of your leathers.

You had agreed, but it had seemed like such a small request at the time—something so easy to give him. You had whispered your submission to his worried words if only to ease the distraught way he looked at you. 

Breaking a promise was not something you were keen to do, but thinking on it now—thinking about life without him—it was an unbearable ask. 

“Y/n,” Azriel stressed. Because the camp was getting rowdy and unsettled. It was almost time for him to depart.

Your lips remained sealed, any ease of your expression lost to harsh lines and sharp movements. You had promised. You had agreed. But what if this was a bargain you actually had to do good on? What if you were faced with death, with a choice, and you ran from it? What if that choice left you alone? 

You hadn’t had enough time together. Azriel’s truth bounced around in your head as the shadowsinger beseeched you with his eyes. Barely mated a year, this war had not been kind to your plans. Perhaps that was why you had been so ready to allow your mate to die before you. 

Because you hadn’t had enough time to consider just what that meant. 

“I can’t live without you,” you admitted as if it were a revelation and not a fact ingrained in your being. “I can’t live when you aren’t here.” Your gaze, which had been locked on Azriel’s shoulder—empty, pondering, lost—raced up in search of your mate’s. “I didn’t mean to promise that to you. I can’t… I can’t, Azriel.” 

Panic had begun to drown you. Breathing was difficult. Your hands began to shake. 

This was becoming too real, too much. A figurative imagining materializing in the form of wrinkled tents and pleading eyes. 

You could lose Azriel. 

This was a war, and it was gruesome and cruel and unfair. 

No one cared that you’d only had a year with your mate, and there was certainly no pity from the enemy that you’d never experienced this insurmountable fear. 

You lost the image of your mate to blurry vision and stinging eyes. You pressed harder into the tree at your back, running through the possibilities—all the ways you could lose. It was no longer about not running, but what would happen if you did. 

Azriel’s gentle hush fought for dominance over your labored breathing. His fingers abandoned their grip on your clothes and traced your face instead, brushing back your hair and swiping the tears that had unknowingly begun running down your jaw. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he comforted. “I didn’t mean to make you panic. My love, look at me. Please.” 

You gasped. “No, no, I can’t. You wouldn't be saying this if you thought—you think we won’t win. You think you’re going to leave me. That you’re going to—”

Another choking gasp. 

But you still met Azriel’s eye. 

No tears there—only a grief you couldn't fathom. “We h-haven’t had enough time,” you said, speaking it out into the world again. 

Azriel’s responding breath was achingly broken. It seemed to hurt his chest as it left him. “Oh, my love.” He kissed your forehead, his next words spoken into your hairline. “You forget what I said, alright? I won’t leave and neither will you. We will meet right back here.” 

“Right back here,” you agreed. 

And it was true that you made a promise—two, to be exact. But promises were often only placeholders for fear.

[neonvqmpire]

we need to talk about how close aziraphale actually was to saying no to the metatron after the kiss and why:

he's extremely conflicted and keeps looking out of the window to crowley in the car.

he previously said "nothing last forever" when crowley told him that he cant leave the bookshop (crowley also meant "you cant leave me"; the bookshop is a metaphor for their lives on earth for him) and he states exactly this as the first objection here. obviously the metatron shuts it down by appointing muriel as the next owner of the shop.

now he's stuck between wanting to be with the being he loves & who he now knows loves him back and his deep inner need/duty to do good. crowley's confession and kiss clearly made him question his decision and change his mind because here is when he actually decides for both.

you can see how he does not want to join heaven alone. he keeps looking out the window when asked if he needs anything to take with him.

he desperately needs crowley there but he can not have him so he lies and says no.

i this moment he tries to say no to heaven one last time. he starts saying "i think i-" and then looks out to crowley one last time. he's really considering crowleys offer here. i think the decision that he makes instead is actually FOR crowley as well.

he decides to join heaven not as he was previously convinced by the metatron to do good and rule together with crowley (which he did not want to do) but instead to go and keep a close eye on heaven FOR crowley.

aziraphale isnt stupid, he remembers what crowley said about heaven being toxic.

i think the confession and kiss makes him question heaven. crowley, who fell for asking questions made aziraphale question heaven too. something that he was always too scared to do. he has started to rebel in his head. he realised that something has to be up with heaven/the metatron bc they offered him the position. he decided to go but with a completely different purpose than before. 

he puts on a smile and it seems fake because it is. he wants to appear like he hasn't just fundamentally changed his position and decided to go against the one force who he was always afraid of yet dependent on. 

this is sth extremely relatable to someone who is queer and autistic and was raised by very conservative family members. even the thought of supporting queer people felt rebellious, terrifying but also extremely exiting and powerful because i knew it was the right thing to believe. 

aziraphale was being so brave here. he saw a glimpse of the life he wants and can have and choose to join heaven anyway to fight for this life. he is convinced it will not be possible for them to be together if heaven is still kicking about and making him feel powerless and scared. he wants to secure their future by changing or possibly even destroying the system from the inside out. 

unfortunately he didn't have time to tell crowley about his change of intention and i think it really breaks his heart. crowley would probably not understand it anyway. they still have a lot to work through and learn but ultimately they will find each other again. they always do.

i am so so interested to see where and how they meet again in s3, if we get it. after everything i just really want them to be happy and to spend their eternity together. they deserve it after all they went through.

[crowtwink]

I am So Normal about this line. His later line about how he never asked to be human is good too but this right here...

Just... the way that Monty and Esther's relationship subtly reinforces the themes about abuse that the rest of the show explores.

The rest of the characters are dealing with healing from the various traumas of past abuse and trying not to continue the cycles they were hurt by but Monty? Monty is trapped in his abuse right now.

And the way that it's shown...

I saw someone point out that his cage is WAY too small for a bird of his size and that's 100% correct and 100% demonstrates that Esther is a shitty person but the thing about the cage that interests me the most isn't it's unsuitability.

It's the fact that the cage is never locked. Most of the time, the door isn't even closed. There's nothing physically stopping Monty from just skipping town. He doesn't seem to particularly like Esther - even at the start - and he's not subtle about it. We never see any indication that she has any magic keeping him bound to her. (It's not unreasonable to assume that she does, sure, but she's never once shown to use it and that's a narrative choice. The one time she threatens him for overstepping, it's physical.)

Even after he's shown hesitation in following through on her plan, even after they have their big fight, even after she remakes him against his will for the second time, we still see him return to that cage. And the cage remains unlocked, because Esther remains confident in her hold over him.

Because that's the thing about staying with your abuser. It's often not about being physically unable to leave the situation. Esther doesn't keep Monty trapped by locking him up. If she did, all he would have to do would be leave the cage to be free. The hold she has on him is much deeper and much harder to escape.

But not impossible.

It's a little betrayal, in the grand scheme of things, but he does finally act against her directly.

Thematically, it makes perfect sense to me that it's Charles who finally pushes him to rebel. Charles, who promised way back in episode one to befriend him. Charles, who knows exactly what it's like to be trapped by an abusive parent. Charles, who so desperately wants people in circumstances similar to his own be in the right so he can prove to himself that he isn't destined to turn out like his dad.

It's no surprise that Charles' immediate reaction to Monty's little act of rebellion is delight.

I really hope we'll see more of Monty in a season two. But even if we don't, I know he's going to be okay.

He's finally escaped.

[evielmostdefinitely]

a hazy shade of winter |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: wedding nuptials and coriolanus' upcoming inauguration, leads to press.

my first work lol <3 reader's surname is "duke" for the series. i picture the duke family being a rothschild similar type if that makes sense???

contains: possessive snow, nothing too graphic, he's manipulative and a little dark. established relationship. mentions of corio's mom. alludes to smut but none.

Coriolanus stared back at his own reflection, fastening the buttons to his shirt. A nicer fabric, Tigris still selected it but did not have to mend it together like before. No, now the Snow’s were back in power, still climbing that ladder of socialites and success- thanks to you. 

A small rapping on the door pulled his attention. “Just a moment.” Corio huffed, looking at the clock. Flickerman’s producer said nine sharp, he still had twenty minutes. 

The rapping didn’t stop, following again, heavier this time. Corio’s spine straightened, icy with fear. His mind raced with possibilities- a rebel outside the door, here to kill him; or perhaps it was the guards, they’d found the guns he threw in the river years ago and we're here for him too. 

Corio reached for his own weapon, slinking to the door, peeking under the crack. Two white heels. 

“Corio,” Your voice whispered, a hint of a giggle. “Let me in, Corio.” 

Coriolanus relaxed, setting the weapon down, tucked under his jacket. The door opened, you in your pristine white outfit, the sapphire fixture on your ring finger. “What are you doing?” Corio scanned the hall. “You’re supposed to be in your dressing room.” 

“Tigris finished with me.” You waved him off, slipping under his arm into his own dressing room. “She went to join my parents in the audience, and I wanted to see you.” You hum, eyes rolling down his frame. 

Corio scoffed lightly, shutting the door. “This is improper.” 

“I think they’ll forgive us, Corio.” You giggle. “We are married.” Your hand laid gently against his chest, smoothing out a crease on his collar, engagement ring sparkling even in the low light of the room. 

Corio’s hand found yours, admiring the ring himself. His mother’s ring turned yours, one of the few items he had left of hers- that they hadn’t lost or sold to stay afloat. He added the halo of diamonds. After all, he was marrying into the Duke family, he needed it to be flashy- to be worthy. 

“We’re not married yet, my love.” Corio muttered, thumb swiping over the ring. “Still two more sleeps.” 

“And a press conference,” You sighed, leaning into his soft touch. “And a press tour.” 

It had been your father’s idea. Coriolanus was to be President come the new term, and since marrying into Panem’s wealthiest, the press tour to each District seemed fitting. The communication was less and less now, Corio wanted to keep it that way, but have them still feel involved. Your father loved the idea. 

“Mmm, but a solo press tour.” Corio hummed, nose brushing against yours gently. “Just us for weeks, days on the train. By ourselves.” His voice rapeseed, tone dropping to that dark octave that left you squirming, tummy flipping with excitement. 

“We won’t really be alone.” You pouted, lip jutting in a petulant sort of sulk. It made Corio’s lip twitch. “There will be the peacekeepers and guards and Tigris and-” 

“-But we’ll have a whole carriage to ourselves. A private one. I’ve made sure of it.” Coriolanus nodded, the pad of his thumb brushing over your lip. “Just for us. A honeymoon before we come back.” 

You smiled softly, hands raking up the soft fabric of his shirt, careful not to bunch or wrinkle the fabric- you knew how much he hated that. Corio’s hands found your waist, pulling you into him, lips slotting over yours. He always took the lead, and you’d let him, his domineering personality never settling even in moments of intimacy. 

Two sharp knocks pulled the two of you away, Coriolanus pausing rigidly. “Come in,” You called, your hand moving respectfully to his arm, smoothing out your skirt. 

“Ah, the love birds.” Lucky Flickerman grinned. “See, Juno, I told you they’d be together, and it looks like they’re decent.” 

Corio’s face swelled with heat, mouth settling in a fine, thin line. Once he was sworn into oath, he’d have his tongue cut out for that vulgar comment. Your hand squeezed his bicep lightly, soothingly. 

“So, I wanted to give you the run down before we are live on the air to all of Panem.” Lucky grinned, you knew he was smug at his rising fame. “President Snow and the First Lady… Do you want me to address you as Snow or Duke?” 

“Snow.” Corio hissed before you could respond. His hand was firm on your waist, pulling you possessively into him. “She is a Snow, now.” 

Lucky blinked, awkwardly cutting his eyes to you. “Right. So President and First Lady Snow, we’ll talk about the wedding- the dress, the ring, the proposal, the details, the guest list. Really lean into that, ok? Get the viewers excited for the district press tour after.” 

You nodded, Lucky’s droning instructions a blur to you. Your eyes caught sight of your and Coriolanus in the mirror. How tall he stood next to you, proud and boasted- powerful. He always had his chin held high, looking down his nose at others. You were just glad he had lessened the way he’d glare down at you, traded it in for a softer side you weren’t sure you’d ever see. 

His hand stayed on the small of your back, respectfully, but holding that same ownership, leading you through the small studio. “You look beautiful.” Corio whispered, pushing a loose strand of hair back into place, tucking it behind your ear. 

You blushed under his praise, looking down at your white kitten heels. “Don’t do that.” Corio frowned, hand pressing into the middle of your spine. “Stand up, darling. Don’t hide from them. Let them know.” 

You followed him out, hand in hand, waving to the studio audience under blinding lights. Since the success of the Hunger Games, the donors- your family included- had poured in money to have the studio revamped. Something nice, more enticing. Your father and mother sat next to Tigris. Your fathers eyes were narrowed, watchful in nearly a predatory sense, a warning to the both of you. 

“Mr. and Mr. Snow,” Lucky grinned, a toothy smile that dazzled under the lights. “Or so it will be soon, yes? The wedding is…” 

“In two days.” Coriolanus nodded, shoulders squared, eyes sparkling, his hand rested on your knee. 

“Marvelous, just marvelous. And what a beautiful couple they are, aren’t they?” Lucky turned to the audience, nodding at their applause. 

You felt hot, skin boiling under the harsh lights, under your father and Corio’s even harsher stares. The pressure to not falter, not even for a moment, was making you dizzy. Do not stutter, sit up straight, smile. 

“And don’t forget, President Snow and his First Lady will be making their way to each of the Districts out there before the Inauguration and of course, before the fifteenth Hunger Games.” Lucky called exaggeratedly, clapping with his cards with the audience. “Don’t forget to join us for the reapings, it’s only a month away, folks. And as always, Panem today, Panem tomorrow, and Panem forever.” 

A pause and it was done. The lights went up, producers nodding, pulling out screens and wires. You looked to Coriolanus, but his attention was elsewhere. 

“That was amazing.” Tigris greeted you with a warm smile. “You did not have to mention me as your designer. I told you to say the company-” 

“-The company didn’t design my dress, you did.” You nodded, squeezing her arm affectionately. “And I’m not letting that bitter, miserable woman get the credit that you deserved, Tigris.” 

Tigris beamed, hugging you briefly, before your father made his slow approach, your mother on his arm. He took slow, calculated steps, looking nearly bored, unimpressed. It made Corio’s heart race- he wanted to mimic it, perfect it to have the same reaction. 

“My girl,” Your father gave a half smile, lips curling in nearly a snarl. “You did wonderful.” 

“Thank you,” You nodded politely. “I was afraid I spoke too much.” 

“Nonsense,” Your mother waved you off lightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You did marvelous.” Her eyes cut over to Coriolanus. “You as well, dear.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Duke.” Corio nodded, hands clasped behind his back respectfully. 

“Are you happy, boy?” Your father looked at Corio, eyes beady and sharpened. “Excited for the wedding? The inauguration?” It was no secret your father and his pull were behind the election, Corio knew that. 

“Of course,” Corio nodded, his hand finding yours gently, squeezing it. “I’m overjoyed, Mr. Duke. Moreso for the wedding, of course, but the inauguration as well. It will be hard to replace President Ravinstill but-” 

Your father lifted his hand. “Save it, boy. This isn’t a political rally, you’ve already won.” He scoffed, shaking his head. You didn’t miss the way Coriolauns stiffened, his grip tightening on your hand. “As long as you keep my daughter happy, then you have my support.”

“Thank you, sir.” Corio forced out a smile through clenched teeth. 

“The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow. At the Trinket Estate Gardens, dear.” Your mother nodded at you, like you’d forget. 

“I’ll see you then.” You hugged her briefly. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course, darling girl.” Your father hugged you, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

He shook Corio’s hand firmly, a shake and a head nod before they were both whisked off, chatting to his other friends who showed. Corio wished he would have introduced him to a few, helped him build a rapport that way. There would be time, he reminded himself. 

“Tigris,” You held Corio’s arm, craning around him towards his cousin on his other arm. “The white rose was a lovely touch.” You smiled, looking down at your corsage. 

“Oh, that was Coriolanus’ idea.” Tigris hummed, looking at the blonde next to her. “He wanted you to have that.” 

You beamed, looking up at your fiance. “You wanted me to have it?” 

“I thought it was a nice touch.” Corio hummed, glancing down at you. “Thought you would enjoy it.” 

“I do,” You mutter, lifting his hand to yours, lips brushing across his knuckles. Normally, he’d scold you for doing it in public. He was against any signs of PDA, a sign of weakness, he said. But he allowed it, even blushing from underneath his stiff collar. 

“Save the I do’s for tomorrow.” Tigris grinned playfully at you. “What are you doing on your last night as a Duke? Going to District Two?” 

Coriolanus glared at her, jaw set firmly. You shook your head lightly. “Packing.” You sighed. “We leave from the reception straight to the train.” 

“Oh, I can help you-” 

“-That’s alright.” You shake your head politely. “It’s just a few things. Sleepwear, toiletries- minimal things. But thank you.” 

Tigris nodded back, pulling from Coriolanus gently. “I’ll wait for you in the car?” 

“Go ahead without us.” Corio nodded. “We have to speak to a few sponsors after.” 

Tigris nodded, waving goodbye to the both of you politely. You stepped into Corio’s dressing room, smoothing out your skirt. “We have to speak to sponsors?” You hummed, reaching for your zipper. “I thought you already did that?” 

“I did.” Corio’s tone was chilling, clicking the lock to the door behind you. You stilled, eyes catching his gaze through the mirror. 

Coriolanus stepped towards you, slow, calculated, with heavy footsteps. He grinned, satisfied, at how you shivered. His hands moved yours, unzipping your dress slowly. You stayed still, watching him for any sign of what was to come. You knew he’d never hurt you, purposefully, never risk what would happen if he laid a hand on you. Still, Corio was unpredictable- you hated the way it excited you. 

“I just wanted a moment alone with my wife.” Corio’s breath was hot on the shell of your ear, shuddering under his touch when he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, exposing you. Bruising love bites on your chest from the night before. You wondered if his back still bore your long scratches from where you’d clawed and raked at his skin. 

“‘M not your wife yet, Corio.” You met his gaze, rounded eyes that had his cock twitching. “Still another two sleeps.” You repeated his words from earlier, the tiniest grin on your lips. 

“How do you want to spend your last night as a Duke, my love?” Corio’s lips ghosted over the skin of your cheek, hands gripping your waist. 

“With you.” You whispered, leaning back against him. “I want to spend it with you, Coriolanus.” 

Corio grinned, salacious and satisfied, fingers splaying over your jaw, holding you while he kissed you, slowly, passionately. Your pristine dress was on the floor, his hands in your hair, legs tangled around his waist while he melted you with every hot kiss.

[weakformingyu]

Style | Y.J.

Pairing: Jeongin x afab!reader

Summary: you always wanted to do something crazy, something different from what your family expects you to. Who would have guessed that you'd meet Yang Jeongin, the guy who has the worst reputation around town and the one who's ready to deviate you from god's path.

Words count: 7,037

THIS ONE AND ALL MY CONTENTS ARE +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!

Warnings: badboy!Jeongin, churchgirl!reader, exaggerated description of conservative/religious families, dirty talk, protected piv, oral(f. receiving), degradation(very little), praise(even less), biting(I think that's all, let me know if I forgot something)

A/N: inspired by TS' song Style, one of my favs.

You have been the pride and joy of your family since your birth, their perfect little daughter who is obedient and never goes against their word. You are a straight A’s student, the main singer of the church's choir, you’re never harsh and never vulgar, you're never free. That makes you mad, you have never enjoyed your life, like truly enjoyed it, you have been living for others this whole time and you’re tired of it.

“You know what?” Soyeon, your newest friend says, “we should go out”

“To go where?” You ask, confused. You two are seated together in your social studies class, she’s different from all your other friends and your parents would definitely kill you if they ever found out that you befriended someone like her. In your eyes, you know there’s nothing wrong with her but you know they would never agree with this friendship the moment they laid eyes on Soyeon.

She has tattoos all over her body and her hair is pink, she wears strong makeup and clothes that show too much skin, nothing like you. You had to beg your parents to let you wear jeans when you got into college, telling them the long dresses would make you stand out too much and at the same time that they gave you an earful because you were giving in to the sins of the world, they agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea for their pristine daughter to get too much attention.

Your circle of friends in college is basically the same as the one you had in high school, mostly people from the church, people just like your parents, who judge others based on looks so it was shocking for you when Soyeon approached you first and it was even more shocking when you realized how much you both have in common. She also comes from a conservative family, but unlike you, she decided to rebel at a young age, she chose to be free.

“There’s a new club in the city, I think you’re going to like it”, she tells you, looking the place up on the internet to show it to you.

“I don’t think my parents would let me go”, you chuckle looking at the pictures and at the people in the pictures, you’d definitely stand out in there.

“And who's talking about asking for permission?” She giggles, watching your horrified face.

“I could never”, you shake your head frantically, anxiety growing in your chest just by thinking about it.

“Y/N, you’re always telling me how much you wanted to be brave and do something impulsive, this is your chance”, she pushes, seeing you bite on your bottom lip, wondering if it would be okay to do that just this once.

“But how am I going to explain to them the reason I’m going out at night?”

Soyeon chuckles, amused.

“Have you ever heard of lying?” She asks, sarcastically, making you blush.

“Stop”, you pout, making her laugh loudly.

“Just tell them you are going to have a sleepover with your righteous friends or whatever, I don’t think they are going to doubt you”, Soyeon suggests.

“Fine, yeah, I can do that”, you say, trying not to shiver at the simple thought of lying. You don’t think you have ever lied to your parents, too afraid of what would happen if you were caught, scared that you’d lose the little bit of freedom you have but maybe it’s worth it this time, maybe you’re going to find a whole new world.

You don’t know why Soyeon asked to meet so much earlier than the actual time of the party. Everything goes well with your parents, you never gave them reason to distrust you so they don’t even think too much of it, telling you to come back first thing in the morning for your prayers.

You go to Soyeon’s house, her parents love you, hoping that you’re going to bring their daughter back to the righteous path, little do they know that she’s the one who’s trying to deviate you from that very path.

Since she’s with you, they believe in everything she says about how you two are going to watch a movie in the theater and then she’s gonna sleep at your house. And you do go to the theater, or better, to the restroom there.

“What are we doing here?” You ask, confused, when she locks you both in the tiny space.

“What do you mean?” She seems as confused as you, looking for something in her bag and then she looks at you, realizing something and laughing. “Girl, bold of you to think I’d let you go dressed like that”, she says, staring at you up and down.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” You ask, looking at yourself.

“Hm, there’s nothing wrong if you were really going to the theater”, she says, pulling out a few clothes out of her bag, “you’re going to a club, you need to look hot.

“Why?” You inquire again, tilting your head.

“Just because”, she loses her patience, handing you the clothes, “now put this on, I’ll do your makeup after you finish dressing.

“I don’t think this is right”, you tell her from inside the booth, opening the door to find Soyeon frowning.

“What is not right?” She asks, and you look down.

“Is this supposed to be a skirt?” You ask, pulling down the small piece of fabric that’s barely covering your ass.

“That’s how people dress, you’re the one who’s always covering yourself”, she explains, coming close to you. “Now, I’m gonna do your makeup, don’t worry, I’m going to take it easy this time”

“This time?” You murmur, making her chuckle, ignoring your question while she pulls her makeup accessories out of the bag.

You can barely recognize yourself when you look in the mirror, but strangely that doesn’t bother you. You are used to always feeling plain and boring but right in this moment, you feel interesting for the first time in your life. Soyeon really didn’t exaggerate on your makeup, she just put on some mascara on your eyes and a red lipstick on your lips. The silk tank top you’re wearing suits you best if you go braless and the skirt is still too short for your taste but anything over knee length is too short for you.

The club is crowded, you don’t think you ever went to a place so full of people and so full of life. People are laughing, kissing each other, dancing, enjoying themselves and that’s something so rare to see in your everyday life, it's delightful to you.

“Do you wanna drink something?” Soyeon asks, loud enough for you to hear.

“I think just water for now”, you tell her and she nods, your friend is not one to pressure you to do something you don’t want.

“I’m going to the bar, okay? I’ll be back in a minute”, she says, as soon as you both reach a booth.

You nod, watching as she struggles to squeeze herself in between the people dancing, you’re not sure if she’s going to be able to arrive safe and sound to the bar.

You look around, you think you know a few people from your school but you hope they don’t recognize you. However, there is a pair of eyes that catch your attention, making you stop to stare at him for a whole minute before he smirks, giving a step in your direction until you realize that he’s coming to you.

You know him, you know him so well. That’s the guy all your friends told you to stay away from, even your parents warned you about him. Yang Jeongin, the city heartthrob.

Jeongin is a known rake, he goes around causing trouble and breaking hearts and that’s something you don’t want anything to do with. Then, why can’t you move? Why does it feel like he’s pulling you like a magnet, like you can’t get up while he has his eyes on you.

You look around, trying to see if Soyeon is close by to save you from him but she’s nowhere to be seen and in an instant he arrives at your table, tilting his head and looking at you up and down. Jeongin raises a brow, watching as you fidget on your seat.

“I don’t think we have met”, he says, sitting down.

“We haven’t”, you say, drily.

“But I think you know me”, he smirks, “And I know you — I mean, the other version of you”

“Well, if you know me, you should also know that there’s nothing for you here”, you tell him, feeling nervous, a strange heat spreading around your lower belly.

He chuckles, sliding in the booth to sit right by your side, slipping his arm around your shoulder.

“Any knowledge I had about you went down the drain the moment you stepped in this party wearing this tiny piece of fabric you call a skirt”, he murmurs too closely, eyes fixed on yours, making your heart beat faster. You should definitely tell him to leave since you have the slight idea about where this is going but at the same time you don't want him to leave. God forbid anyone knows that you ever let this man touch you but you sure want him to. You can't even blame the alcohol since you didn't drink any but you can blame Soyeon for leaving you alone in a place where Jeongin is. Having him so close to you is making your head hurt, you feel your whole body turning hot, the throbbing on your upper body making you dizzy.

Something takes control over you, making you turn your upper body over to him, clicking your tongue next and smirking.

“Shall we get to know each other, then?” You hear your voice but don't know where that courage came from.

“I'd like that”, he squeezes his body even closer to you. Jeongin leans over the table, resting his chin on his hand while he rests his elbow on the metal surface. “You look stunning tonight by the way, very different from the way you look on the daily basis”

“So you really know who I am”, you ask, surprised.

“Of course, you're the college's model for good behavior”, he chuckles, “the amount of times I heard professors bringing you up as an example is crazy”

“Well, it's the opposite with you”, you shrug.

“Ouch”, he pouts, “why does it sounds like you don't like me”

“It's ‘cause I don't”

“I'm sure I can change your mind”, he leans in closer once more.

“Oh, pray tell, how are you going to do that?” You scoff, amused. There's no way this guy has gam-

“Have you ever had your pussy eaten?”

You almost choke on the air you just breathed.

“Wh-what?” You gulp, trying to recompose yourself.

“I'm sure you're gonna like me after I eat you out”, he smirks.

You roll your eyes, scoffing at him, trying to hide your embarrassment and how hot you're feeling.

“Do you say that to all the girls you try to sleep with?” You ask, crossing your arms in front of your chest, making your boobs go up, something that makes Jeongin's eyes go down to stare at your breasts, the smirk growing bigger in his lips.

“Only to the special one's”, he tells you, nonchalantly, raising a brow. Before you can retort, you see Soyeon coming in your direction with drinks in both hands.

“Sorry, it took ages for someone to get my order”, she says, tilting her head in confusion when she looks at Jeongin. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all”, Jeongin is the one to say, “I was just about to leave, it's nice to see you by the way”, he smiles at Soyeon while getting up. “If you change your mind, feel free to come find me”, he says, winking at you before turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

Soyeon sets the drinks on the table, sitting by your side with a puzzled face.

“What was that about?” She asks.

“Nothing”, you sigh, fanning yourself to try and calm down and ease your hot face.

“Well, by the way you are reacting it doesn't look like nothing”

“He was hitting on me”, you say, feeling embarrassed again. “I told him I'm not interested”

“Why?” Soyeon asks, more confused than before.

“What do you mean ‘why’? He's Yang Jeongin, the guy who everyone warns us about”, you answer like it's obvious.

“Nope, he's the guy the people from your church warned you about”, she chuckles, “I know him and he's not that bad, but it's true that he can't keep it in his pants”

“Even if it's not as bad as people painted him to be…”, you lean closer to her so you can talk lower, “... I never did anything, I don't know if it's okay for me to do it here”

“And who's the person who's going to tell you if it's okay or not?” Soyeon asks, “you should do what you feel like doing, don't think about your parents or your church, just think about what you wanna do”

You stare at Soyeon for a moment, biting on your bottom lip. You know she's right, you do, but are you brave enough to take the risk?

“Do you have a con…dom?” You ask, feeling your cheeks hot and a big smile grows on your friend's face.

“I sure do”, she answers, opening her bag and looking for it inside, grabbing two packages and giving it to you. “Don't feel like you have to do this, you can just try and see what happens. I have known Jeongin for quite a while and I know he wouldn't do anything you're not up to”, Soyeon assures you.

You nod, getting up. There's nothing wrong with trying, right? Your parents will never know and it's not like he's going to tell anyone too.

You walk in the direction Jeongin went, squeezing yourself in the middle of the crowd, looking around to find the man. There are so many different people, but you're sure you can spot him without issue if he's nearby.

You do come across him, eyes meeting his back while you watch as he whispers something in another girl's ear. There's an ache in your chest as you watch how she laughs about what he's saying like he's so funny. Well, stupid of you to think he would be waiting for you. You sigh, maybe this is a sign that you should just call it a night and go home.

As if the universe hears what's going through your mind, Jeongin turns around like he could feel your gaze and your eyes meet for a split of a second before you turn to look anywhere else, just to find someone you know. Fuck, it's a girl from your church, her family is really close to yours, what's she doing here?

You spin on your heels, deciding to run to the restroom for now, it's your best option. She's known to be a snitch, if she sees you there's no way she's gonna keep quiet about it to your parents and after that your life is over.

Miraculously, you manage to find an empty bathroom, going in and locking the door. You watch yourself in the mirror, your red lipstick is still intact. You wet your hands, throwing drops of water at your face but not enough to mess your makeup.

You're fine, you're alright, you can just sneak out of this club and get home safely without anyone knowing. You nod, turning around to open the door. And when you get out, you're going to forget any strange ideas you had about-

“Jeongin?” You ask, seeing the man standing in front of the bathroom door. “What are you doing here?”

“This is a public restroom”, he jokes.

“Ah, yeah”, you nod, stepping aside so he can go in and you can walk away.

“I was kidding”, he explains, “I thought I saw you looking for me”, he smiles, crossing his arms in front of his chest while he leans on the door frame

“Was I?” You pretend. You had just decided that you wouldn't let these impulsive feelings control you so why is every fiber of your body telling you to just grab this man by the collar and kiss him.

“Should I come in?” He asks, ignoring your cynical retort. “If you tell me to go in, I'll understand that you're interested in going further in this little game but if you're still not interested, you can just tell me to leave”

You take a few deep breaths, thinking about what you really wanna do, just like Soyeon said.

“Fuck it”, you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, locking the door after.

Jeongin watches you with that damn smirk on his face.

“I won't do anything I'm not comfortable with”, you inform him, making him chuckle as he takes a step closer to you.

“Wouldn't want it any other way”, he says, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing your body against his. Jeongin leans closer slowly, taking his time enjoying how you lick on your lips anxiously and watch him with big eyes. Then he kisses you, his lips gently press against yours, so much more delicate than you thought he could be. His tongue brushes past your lips, going into your mouth and exploring every corner, dancing with yours as he shows you what to do. You kissed someone before but it was nothing like this, you never knew you could feel this hot with a kiss. Your belly feels like it's on fire, warmth spreading everywhere.

Jeongin's hands slide down to your thighs, brushing your skin slightly and making you shiver as his hands goes up, beneath your skirt.

“Is this okay?” He asks, squeezing your ass only covered by your panties and you feel dizzy, nodding frantically. Jeongin smiles, he's not usually so careful but he can guess that you're not very experienced, and the last thing he wants is for any partner to have a bad experience with him.

Jeongin lifts you up, carrying you to the sink and making you sit there, sliding his hands down to your legs to spread them open for him. Your skirt rides up and he can see your baby blue panties and the wet spot between your folds.

“Are you already this wet, baby?” He asks, sliding your underwear to the side as he brushes his fingers slightly in your entrance. Jeongin looks at you, looking for any hesitancy but you're looking at him with expectant eyes, waiting patiently for him to fingerfuck you. He inserts one finger inside you, “Who knew a good girl like you would let someone like me fuck her in the restroom of a club?” He teases, watching as you squirm in embarrassment but also how your walls flutter around his finger. “Hmm, do you enjoy hearing how much of a whore you are?” He thrusts in and out, feeling your pussy sucking his finger more and more as he degrades you, making him add one more.

“Don't say that”, you whine, grabbing him by the shoulders and digging your nails on his jacket, trying to contain the moans that try to escape your lips.

“Oh, but I think you like it”, Jeongin smirks, using his thumb to tease your clit while his other hand wanders beneath your crop top, grabbing one of your breasts, kneading and squeezing the flesh.

“Ah!” You whine, closing your eyes to the feeling. You never thought it would be so good to feel someone else's hands touching you like that, it makes you wonder why it took you so long to try.

As if Jeongin can hear your thoughts and want to torture you, he takes his fingers out of you, make you whimper to the loss of his touch.

“Shh, pretty girl. I'm going to make you feel good real soon”, he kisses you one more time before sliding his jacket down his arms, dropping it on the floor. He's wearing a tank top that looks painfully tight on his body, hugging every bit of his muscles and showing his toned arms.

You gasp when he takes the piece off, showing you his muscular chest, making you gulp and try to close your legs to rub them together to ease the tight knot growing on your lower stomach but being prevented by Jeongin's hips.

“Do you like what you see?” He asks, condescendingly. But contrary to his expectations, you nod frantically, probably not thinking straight anymore. Jeongin chuckles, leaning closer, biting on your earlobe. “After you come in my mouth I'm gonna show you something you're going to like even more”

Before you can ask questions, the man is getting on his knees in between your legs. He pulls your panties, sliding it down your legs, licking his lips to the sight of your glistening cunt. You can feel his hot breath reaching your sensitive spot, Jeongin kisses your inner thighs slowly, making you whine for him to do something, anything to help you feel any sort of relief.

Finally he dives in on your pussy, sticking his tongue between your wet folds and licking a huge strand until he reaches your clit. Jeongin sucks on the hardened bud, circling it with his tongue, digging his fingers on your hips as he pulls your pussy closer to his face, leading your legs over his shoulders. You taste delicious, sweet and wet, he feels like he could stay with his face between your legs forever. When he feels your hips bucking in against his mouth, he groans, eyes fixed on your pleasured drunk face.

Your hands fly to his head, pressing him against your cunt without even realizing, his nose poking on your clit just makes it worse and when he inserts two fingers in your hole at once, you feel your whole body shaking. Your toes curl and a loud moan escapes your lips as Jeongin slows down the movements on your sensitive spot, enjoying seeing you coming down from your high.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, standing up. You open your eyes to stare at him, his face glistening with your juices and you have the inexplicable urge to kiss him, so you grab Jeongin by the neck and crash your lips on his.

He groans in between your sloppy kiss, feeling his painfully hard cock throb even more while listening to your sweet sighs. He feels like he's about to explode when he feels your hand touching the buttons of his jeans, pulling away to look at what you're doing.

“I wanna touch you”, you explain, feeling your cheeks hot but too drunk in pleasure to even feel embarrassed.

“Oh, pretty”, he smirks, your hands freeing his cock in a simple move, making Jeongin bite on his bottom lip to hold on the moan about to come out when he feels your fingers grabbing on his cock.

“I don't know what to do”, you whine, looking at him with expectant eyes, he really wanna curse right now but he doesn't want you to think he's angry.

“Here”, he covers your hand with his, leading yours up and down his shaft. “Like this”, he closes his eyes, leaning on your shoulder and letting you work alone.

“Do you like it, Innie?” You ask, softly. Your movements on his cock makes him whimper, he hates being called that but why does it sound so sweet coming out of your mouth?

Jeongin lifts his head, looking at you. You have your bottom lip stuck between your lips, your eyes are glossy, your red lipstick is all smeared and your breathing is erratic.

“Fuck, you're hot”, he answers, making you giggle, putting more pressure on the caresses you're giving his length. “Can I fuck you, pretty girl?” He asks, making you halt your movements. His hands cup your face and he kisses you, smiling once he pulls away. “We don't have to”, he assures you, “you said you won't do anything you're not comfortable with and I agreed”

“I want to”, you say, feeling your face hot. “It's just that- I never did this before, so I don't know what to do”, you tell the truth. You're having mixed feelings about this whole thing, you really want to do this but you can't shake the thought that something bad is going to happen if you do something to displease your parents.

“We can go slowly, okay?” He asks, pulling you out of your deep overthinking. You nod, giving him the condom that you had stored in the pocket of your skirt. “Oh my, you're dirtier than I thought”, he chuckles, opening the packaging and putting on the protection.

He positions his cock in your entrance, checking once more with you if everything is okay.

“If it hurts too much, I'm going to stop”, he tells you and you nod, feeling him sliding inside you slowly. You gasp, the stretch is rougher than you thought and when he reaches a certain point it starts hurting too much. He stops when he sees the tears running down your face, making him frown in worry. “Are you okay?” He asks, you look at him and nod.

“It just hurts a bit but I can take it”, you assure him, seeing him smile. Jeongin leans closer to you, trying not to move his hips for the time being.

“You're so good, baby”, he praises you, kissing below your eyes, on your tears stained cheeks.

He kisses your lips, feeling you relaxing on his hold and that's when he moves, his cock going all the way in as you whimper in his mouth. “Does it hurt a lot?” He asks, but you shake your head.

“It's good now, I think I'm good”, you whisper, “can you move?” Jeongin nods, thrusting in and out slowly, letting you get used to his cock. Your moans make him believe that you're enjoying yourself. “Oh Innie, Innie, that's so good”, you mumble, feeling like you can see stars.

“Shit, y/n, fuck”, Jeongin groans, feeling his orgasm approaching. “I'm not going to last, baby, I'm gonna come”, he groans, leaning on your shoulder once more and biting on the soft skin, making you cry out.

“Me too, oh- oh”, you moan loudly feeling your release, the faltering thrusts of the man inside you and his low moans tell you he just came too.

You two stay silent for a whole minute, trying to process what just happened. You can't believe you just had sex in the restroom of a club and with Jeongin of all people, but even though you know no one other than Soyeon is going to be excited about that, you can't stop the big smile that grows in your lips.

Three knocks on the door make the both of you come back to reality, you jump from the sink, trying to fix yourself to look presentable outside and before you two can talk about what just happened Soyeon’s voice comes out.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” She sighs.

“Yeah”, you answer while you try to fix your lipstick that's all over your face.

“We have to hurry, a girl from your church saw me and it's just a question of time before she finds you too”, she tells you, making you look at Jeongin.

“I gotta go”, you inform, even though he hears what Soyeon just said.

“Yeah”, it's the only thing he says and that makes you disappointed. You shouldn't have expected much of someone who just fucked you in the restroom of a club but you thought you felt something different, guess you were wrong.

When you walk out of the restroom, Jeongin comes down from his gaze. Fuck, he can't believe he let you go just like that but he was too shocked about the things he felt a few minutes ago. Why did it feel so different this time?

You can't stop thinking about Jeongin, the way he held you that night is stuck into your mind and the way he kissed you made you want more but you can't have him not now and not ever. While you have been torturing yourself and overthinking, Jeongin kept living his life to the fullest like that night never happened, like you never happened.

“That Jeongin guy is so vulgar, I heard he’s got girls left and right, doing God knows what with him”, one of the girls of your church says. You feel your cheeks hot, you know exactly what they are doing with him because you were one of those girls.

“I don’t think we should be talking about that”, you murmur, biting on the insides of your cheek.

“Ah, you’re right”, she nods, smiling empathetically to you, “we shouldn’t talk about such worldly things”, the girl grabs your hand, looking around to the other people and smiling gently. “Shall we talk about the song we will be presenting on Sunday?”

You nod with the others, but you pay no attention to whatever she’s saying or anyone for that matter. Your thoughts traveling far to those ungodly sensations Jeongin caused you.

In your lunch break you don’t really want to be with your church friends, you know that at some point, something about sins is going to come up in the conversation and you’ll have to hear how you were a slut, even though they don’t know that they’re talking about you. So you go to the opposite side of heading to the bathroom, it’s not the most hygienic place to eat but at least you’ll be left alone.

That was your idea, until you feel someone grab you by the wrist and drag you to an empty room. You were ready to curse at the person when your back is pressed against the wall and you have the chance to look at the culprit’s face.

“Jeongin?” You ask confusedly, looking at his sharp eyes.

“The one and only”, he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Aw, baby”, he pouts, “why does it sound like you didn’t miss me?” He asks, taking a step closer to you — if that’s even possible, since you two are already glued.

“Because I didn’t”, you lie, avoiding his gaze, trying to push him away from you but getting your wrists held by his hands the moment they land on his chest. “And by the way, are you crazy? How can you just drag a girl to an empty place like this?”

“I’m sorry, are we still at that time where men and women can’t even be left alone to talk without being forced to marry?” He asks sarcastically, “we already did so much worse than just talk though”

“Just tell me what you want and leave me alone”, you huff, trying to control yourself. His body so close to yours does things to you, thoughts you don’t know if you’ll be able to control.

“Well, even if you didn’t miss me, I missed you”, he suddenly looks too serious, not a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Well, I heard that you’ve been out and about with some other girl”, you scoff, trying to hide your bitterness about the subject.

He sighs, biting on his bottom lip.

“What you heard is true, but I can’t stop thinking about that night, about you”, he confesses, making your heart melt for a moment. So he wasn’t as alright as you thought he would be and that gives you some peace of mind, to know that you weren’t just another notch in his belt. However, reality comes crashing in soon after, as you remember that you two could never be together.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” You ask, even though your sentence sounds hostile, you really want an answer.

“We can try and be a thing, I don’t know anything about couple’s shit but I can try if it’s with you”, he scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly and that confession would sound a bit cute if you didn’t know better.

“Jeongin, we can’t be together”, you clear things out, feeling a sudden pain in your chest.

“Why not?” He looks at you like you’re saying something unbelievable and that makes you chuckle.

“Because, we come from two different worlds. You wouldn’t have ever looked at me if it wasn’t for that party”, you bite on your bottom lip. “It’s that girl you’re interested in, the bold and pretty girl who takes risky decisions”, you manage to push him away this time, he’s too shocked by what you’re saying to even try to prevent you. “You’re probably just enchanted with the idea of me and in a few days you’re going to get tired and even though for you I’ll be just another ex-girlfriend, for me… Unfortunately, I can’t recover after you”

You grab your bag that had fallen on the ground, continuing to speak.

“Until I get out of my parents' home, I have to follow their rules and they would never agree with me dating someone like you. My whole life will be a mess after you leave, but yours is going to be as normal as it was before you met me”, you smile sadly to him, waiting for a moment while he stares at you with a scowl in his face before you nod, turning around and leaving him behind.

You feel like throwing up. If he never came after you at least you could pretend that night never happened, that it was just as insignificant to you as it was to him. Why did he have to come after you and make things so complicated? That makes everything so much worse, it’s so much more painful to think about what you two could have been.

You try distracting yourself with your classes and the church choir, trying to get more tasks so you won’t be able to think about Jeongin. You need to stop thinking about him. There’s a point where you even think you might be going crazy, when you see someone just like him at your church on Sunday but there’s no way he’s there, Jeongin would never step foot in a place like that and you’re sure the other people that attend wouldn’t like him there either.

You help get the lunch ready at home, your parents are acting strange and treating you so nicely that you think one of them might be dying and they are trying to sooth you before telling the truth. That’s when you hear the sound of the doorbell, frowning, you didn’t know you were expecting visits.

“Can you get the door, honey?” Your mother asks and you nod, walking to the entrance and opening the door just to find someone who looks exactly like Jeongin, but there’s no way that’s him.

“Good afternoon, y/n”, he greets you, what happened to him? He’s wearing khaki pants and a light blue sweater over a white dress shirt. His hair is styled slipped to the side, not a strand out of place. You close the door fast, in panic.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, holding the knob of the door so your parents won’t open it before he goes away.

“I was invited”, he says nonchalantly, like it’s something he’s used to doing.

“Aren’t you going to invite our guest to come in?” You hear your father’s voice, looking at Jeongin like he’s an alien. He smiles at you, tilting his head while you open the door, suspiciously.

Your parents greet him with a big smile, something you never thought you’d see them doing towards Jeongin.

“Did you have trouble finding the house?” Your mother asks, as she puts some rice on a plate for him.

“Not at all”, he answers politely, “you have a beautiful home”, he smiles charmingly, making the older woman giggle.

“I’m sorry, but can you explain how you know each other?” You ask, confused with their interaction.

“Honey, Jeongin found us at the church earlier and we have never been more proud of you”, she smiles as your father nods.

“Proud of what?” You feel your head spinning, the only thing Jeongin could have told them was about the night you spent together and you’d probably be homeless right now if your parents ever found out about that.

“Now now, don’t be so modest my dear”, your mother smiles. “Jeongin told us how you have been unstoppable about your mission on bringing his soul back to our lord”

You blink once, twice…

“I did what?” You ask, frowning, Jeongin’s hand sneaks right to your thigh, squeezing the flesh, almost making you squeal.

“He told us everything”, you father stops eating, “how you searched for him while he was lost and guided his soul back to our God’s path”

“I told your parents how I became a new man because of you, y/n”, Jeongin says, smiling kindly to your family, “and I asked them if it would be okay if we got to know each other with the intention of marriage in the future”, he says like its nothing, making you choke on the air you just breath.

“Marriage?” You almost yell.

“Only after I’m done with all my studies and when your parents consider me a man worthy of you, of course”, he looks so genuine, you would surely believe him if you didn’t see the corner of his lips slightly upturned.

“And of course we agreed”, your mother says, “someone who got lost once has more chances to get lost again, so who better than you to be by his side, helping him get through the worldly desires without deviating from the right path?”

You nod, not really understanding what's happening but going with the flow.

“May I take y/n for a walk after we eat?” He asks your parents, they look at each other and nod, telling him to go ahead.

The rest of the lunch is unbelievable, Jeongin even quotes the bible, making your family impressed. After everyone eats, he helps your mom collect the dishes and after a few minutes he comes back from the kitchen, smiling kindly at you and offering his hand to you so you can hold and get up. You walk together for a couple of minutes, you’re still too into your own head to ask him anything, everything about this whole situation doesn’t seem real.

“You are insane”, is the only thing you say when you see his car at the end of the road, you look at him just to find his piercing eyes watching you.

“I’m just someone very determined”, he shrugs.

“So what now, you’re going to pretend to be a good boy forever?” You walk straight to his car without even realizing it.

“Not forever, just until you get out of your parents house”, you spin on your heels, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, confused. “You could have anyone you wanted”

“Not you”, he tells you, simply. “And I want you”, he takes a step closer and when you step back, you feel your back press on the door of his car, making him grin, walking even closer to you and pressing his body against yours.

You don’t want to reject him, you never wanted to in the first place and to think that he managed to find a way so you two can be together, it makes you flustered.

“I want you too”, you murmur, feeling your cheeks grow hot.

Jeongin smiles, leaning in to kiss you but stopping before his lips could touch yours, sliding his hand behind your back to pull the handle of the door.

“That’s good, ‘cause you have no idea about how much I’ve been wanting to taste you since I saw you this morning at the mass”, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to be able to swing the door open, pushing you inside of the back seat of his car.

You’re wearing the long dress you always use to go to the church and it makes Jeongin even crazier to see you dressed like this than it did when you wore those tiny little pieces at the club. This way no one else can see you the way he does, everything about you is for him to see, you're all his.

“Innie, we shouldn't do this here”, you whimper when he rides your skirt up, revealing the wet spot in your panties.

“That's not what your pussy is telling me”, he chuckles, pulling the piece of fabric aside and brushing his fingers between your folds. “Fuck, you're soaked”, he groans, leaning down to lick your clit, making your hips thrust involuntarily to feel his mouth in your needy hole.

Jeongin digs his fingers on your hips, preventing you from moving while he licks and sucks on your core. The wetness of your cunt is too much for him, it's overwhelming and your smell makes him go crazy.

“Can't we go to your house?” You whimper, looking around, trying hard to keep your eyes open even though your body is forcing you to close them to enjoy the pleasure.

“Nope, I promised your parents I would have you back home in thirty minutes, we are running out of time”, he raises his brow to you, daring you to protest more but you just give in, enjoying his hot tongue on your cunt and letting yourself come on his mouth.

On the way back to your home, Jeongin promises to keep appearances for your parents but he tells you that what he wants more than anything is to take you out of the righteous path. He says that with that damn smirk on his lips and you're sure he's gonna succeed.

A/N: if you enjoy my work, don't forget to give me some feedback. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated and are the things that keep me motivated to write. You can also buy me a coffee ☕

[atlabeth]

mine forever

request from @nghtwngs

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!tidemaker reader

a/n: SO sorry for posting this early and having to delete 💀 i was formatting and didnt realize i was not saving it as a draft lmao. but thank you for sending this in love!!! and PLEASEE send in as much nikolai as you want i miss writing for him so much

wc: 1.4k

warning(s): hurt/comfort. reader is insecure, nikolai is the sweetest as usual

join in on my 3k celebration!!

“You’re avoiding me.” 

Your eyes didn’t move away from the horizon when you heard Nikolai’s voice, though you felt your muscles tense. 

“Clearly not well enough,” you remarked. “Seeing as you found me.” 

“You know I’ll always find you,” Nikolai murmured. “But that means little if you will not talk to me.” 

Of course you were not talking to him. You did not know how to talk to him—not when you so clearly didn’t understand the issue plaguing you. 

All you’d ever known was the life of a Grisha. You were tested when you were young, revealed to be a Tidemaker, and whisked away to the Little Palace, where you’d been honing your abilities ever since. You rebelled against the one thing you knew, joined the side of the Sun Summoner, and now you were in the midst of a war for the very survival of your people. 

There were so few Tidemakers left after the Darkling’s massacre, which meant Alina and Nikolai were counting on you more than ever in their fight to reclaim Ravka. 

But when you needed your powers most, they disappeared. 

You— you just didn’t understand, because it didn’t make sense. You’d spent years studying the Small Science and how to wield it, how to manipulate the water around you no matter how miniscule. 

This was not merzost. You had never tampered with the way of the world, never attempted to bastardize the abilities you’d been granted.

Like called to like. There was a part of you that connected to the water, that allowed you the affinity for all of this.  

You had just… lost it. For no apparent reason. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” you stated simply. The cold of the railing shocked your fingers as you set your hand down, but you welcomed any sort of feeling. 

“Do not be ridiculous,” Nikolai said wryly. He came out onto the balcony and stopped beside you. You could see him looking at you through your peripherals, could feel his intent gaze. “Nobody avoids me unless they have a reason.”

You huffed a bitter laugh. “I certainly have a reason, moi tsarevich.”

“So we’ve gone back to titles?” Nikolai’s lips quirked up. “Shall I start referring to you as Grisha? Tidemaker, even?”

You scoffed. “That would be inaccurate.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “We’ve reached the root of the problem.”

“We hardly did anything,” you said. “Do you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Nikolai said. “But you should know your scornful words have no effect when I’m aware of your true feelings.”

“If you are aware of my true feelings, you should know I would like to be left alone.” 

“You want to be left alone because you feel useless without your power,” he said. “Any man worth their salt would not fall to that, and fortunately, I’m worth quite a lot.” 

You finally turned to look at Nikolai, though you could not muster the full force of your anger when you did. He had that slight smile still, the glint in his eyes, and all you could think was that you didn't even deserve this kindness. 

“Because I am,” you said. 

He shook his head. “You are not. Far from useless, actually.” 

“You served in the First Army, didn’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s relevant—” 

“Just answer my question.” 

“...Yes,” he said. “I was infantry. The 22nd Regiment.” 

“And if you had lost the ability to shoot a gun, would you be allowed to stay on the front lines?” 

Nikolai shook his head. “I will not participate in hypotheticals to help you feel worse.” 

“Because you know it’s true.” You looked back out at the horizon—the sun was steadily setting. “I have no place here anymore.” 

He said your name with a slight huff. “That is not true.” 

“I’m not Grisha anymore!” you exclaimed as you whirled back to face him. “The only reason I have ever gotten anywhere— the only reason I am here, the only reason I ever met you in the first place— it is all because of my power.” You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself in the wake of a cold wind. The material was noticeably thinner than your kefta, but you could not bring yourself to wear it anymore. “I’m useless now. To— to Ravka, to the Second Army— to you.” 

His brows furrowed. “You are not useless to Ravka— and you could never be useless to me.” You averted your eyes, unable to meet the full weight of his softened gaze, and his frown deepened. “That’s what this is about then? 

“Don’t act like it’s so ridiculous,” you muttered. 

Nikolai had the nerve to laugh, and you glared at him. He held up his hands in defense, but he could not fully bite back his smile. 

“I apologize, lapushka, but I did not even consider that as an option for why you were so upset.” 

Nikolai took your hands in his, hands that had been the key to your power the entire life, that were failing you, and he held them like nothing else in the world mattered. “Do you know how absurd the thought of me not loving you is?” 

You glanced away, but Nikolai gently cupped your chin with a few fingers and tilted you back to meet his eyes. 

“Because it is,” he continued, letting his hand fall back down to grasp yours. “I love you with everything in me. I love you because you are you—not because of your powers. Not because you are Grisha.” 

“Who am I if I am not Grisha?” Your voice came out as little more than a whisper, near a desperate plea. You’d never felt weaker, never felt smaller. The only thing you’d known all your life had been ripped away from you, and you felt as if you’d been shoved into an endless void. 

Nikolai said your name softly as he squeezed your hands. “You are a soldier of great renown. A revolutionary on the right side of history. The most loyal friend someone can have. And lest you somehow manage to forget it, you are the woman I love.”

“You deserve better than—” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “—than some broken, failed Grisha.”

“You are not broken,” Nikolai murmured, and he never looked away from your eyes as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We are merely on… a different path.” 

“A different path,” you repeated, and you could not help your wry laugh. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we will go down every step of it together. Do you understand that?” 

Nikolai fought for everything he had, despite his standing as a Lantsov. He was a soldier on the front lines, he rose through the ranks on the sea under a pseudonym, and now he was clawing his way through useless formalities in order to take back the throne that he deserved. 

And here you were—someone who was given everything because of some power inside you. And now you didn’t even have that. 

It just did not seem right. It did not make sense. For a man as powerful as Nikolai to stick by your side despite such a misgiving. 

“If you don’t, that is alright.” Nikolai shrugged. “I will just have to spend extra time showing you how much I revere your very being.” 

“Nikolai,” you murmured, and his grip on your hands tightened. 

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through,” he said. “I cannot lose what you have lost because I’ve never had it in the first place. But I can promise you wholeheartedly that we will figure out what is wrong. Together.” 

“And what if we don’t?” you asked. You couldn’t help it. 

“Then nothing will change,” Nikolai vowed. “Milaya, nothing can tear me away from you, whether you are Grisha or not. Do you understand that?” 

A part of you still could not. Who were you if you were not of use? 

But when you met Nikolai’s eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to glow with the sunset, full of softness and admiration and love, you found that you could start to.

You may not have believed in yourself, but Nikolai did. And that had to mean something.  

“I’m beginning to,” you murmured. 

“Good,” he said, and his lips quirked into a smile. “But fear not, milaya. I hold enough love for you inside of me for the both of us in the meantime.” 

[taesanluv3r]

youthful rebellion

han taesan x reader

reader and secret bf!taesan rebel against their strict parents :3 inspired by the dangerous mv! stealing a car, driving without a license, making-out (sort of, it's implied) gets pretty silly at the end...as expected from a fic by me LMAO lowercase intended. pls excuse any grammatical mistakes or spelling errors! enjoyyyy

wc: 2,279

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"wanna do something crazy?"

han taesan and yn ln. two chaotic teens tied by the ropes of their suburban neighbourhood. born to be living and loving their youth- staying out till sunrise with their best-friends, going to parties and getting shit-faced- but forced to be home by their early curfews set by their strictly rule-driven parents. the list of dos and don'ts go beyond anyone's field of vision.

DO: study hard, get good grades, eat healthy foods and sleep early. DON'T: date, sleep around, drink, get home after 8pm...and definitely DO NOT even think about stealing your parents' car.

"depends what 'crazy' is..." yn replies to the boy on the other line of the phone-call. it was almost midnight, all the lights in the neighbourhood had been turned off and everyone was asleep. well, everyone except the two teenagers who, unlike everyone else, refused to retire into their beds. "like...sneak out and steal a car kind of crazy?" taesan's rebellious suggestion shocks her, a silent gasp escaping her mouth. she can hear him laugh, "what? too risky?"

yn moves from her bed to sit on her desk in front of her window. the window that was directly adjacent to his own one. "open your curtain, i wanna see you" she whispers, just in case her parents weren't as deaf as she thought. "mhm" taesan responds quickly before his face comes into view from the house across hers.

they share a smile, stupidly waving at each other. yn blushes when the boy blows her a flying kiss- something both their parents would yell at them for...but mom and dad never had to know, they could go about their secret relationship the way they have been for the past few months since they started dating. behind their backs, staying on the phone all night, and communicating from the window. they don't mind it in the slightest- i mean, how else were they supposed to do it? if they were out together in the day, it'd only be a matter of time before their strict parents figured it out and forbid them from ever seeing each other again. the pair won't lie though, sometimes they wish they could just...rebel.

"what's a pretty girl like you thinking so hard about right now, hm?'' yn could see his mouth move, but the sound only came from out her phone's speaker. "um...nothing" but taesan doesn't believe her for a second. "you can't seriously be considering the sneaking out thing i was talking about...can you?" she doesn't even need to answer. in fact, the fact that she didn't was proof alone that she was indeed thinking about it. the girl looks up to see her boyfriend, only to find him shuffling around his bedroom. her eyebrows furrowed, "what're you doing?" it's silent for a second, but she can see him throw on his sweater.

"come meet me by my garage, we'll take my dad's car"

the girl can't believe her ears, too stunned that she had accidentally zoned out for a moment, only to regain consciousness when she caught a glimpse of the boy waving his hand around at her from his window. "hello? darling, if you're not up for it we don't have-" he was cut off, "no! meet you in 5?" his toothy grin shined brightly, her own one just as pearly white.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

it didn't take long for yn to successfully sneak out of her house. she had taken out the battery on the automatic lock about a year ago without her parents knowing, and as it turned out they were much deeper sleepers than she had thought. if she had known sneaking out were this easy, she probably would've done it way before this.

according to plan, the girl quietly walks over to the neighbouring home. she waits by the opened garage, the lights were still off and there was no sign of her boyfriend. 'hope he didn't get caught...' just as the thought crossed her mind, the squeak of a door, followed by soft footsteps enter her ears- and before long, appears her tall and pale, handsome boyfriend.

"hey" he says excitedly, though his voice is hushed and his breathing was heavy. "hi" she mumbles when he engulfs her into his arms. "sorry i took so long, my dad kept the keys on his bed-side table and i had to tip-toe around him...think his snores were loud enough to drown out the noise though" he laughs coming to the end of the sentence, as does she. "c'mon, we better go before it's too late"

as quiet as humanly possible, the pair made it into the car without creating a ruckus. "damn...okay" yn sighs, letting out the breath she didn't even know she was holding. "right...so..." it was silent all of a sudden, the teens staring blankly at the dashboard in front of them. taesan in the driver's seat just as clueless as yn in the passenger's. "so like...are you gonna drive or...?" the girl asks, her gaze moving from the inert wheel to the boy who had his hands wrapped around it. "um...well, i don't really have a license...but...it shouldn't be that hard right?"

normally, the girl would freak out and maybe start a fight but, for whatever reason, all she could bring herself to do right now was...laugh. he did as well, their hysterics muted by the walls of the car, hiding them from the ears of the neighbourhood. "i believe in you" yn says, pressing a motivational kiss to his cheek. taesan finds it ticklish, scrunching his nose at the feeling. "alright..." he begins, sticking in the key to start the car. the engine makes a roaring sound that the pair swears the whole world could probably hear. it gets their hearts racing, the adrenaline rush finally kicking in. "you ready?" he asks, looking for one last bit of reassurance from his girlfriend and his foot over the pedal as he adjusts his posture. she nods at him,

"let's get outta here"

with that, the boy begins to drive, silently making their way out of the garage and onto the road, headed out to the main street. he gets the hang of the steering wheel rather quickly, all their doubts and worries flying straight out the window as they accelerated out of their sleepy neighbourhood.

"oh my god...can't believe we did that" taesan says, looking back at the houses that got smaller and smaller behind them. yn laughs, "eyes on the road, babe" she reminds him, beginning to snoop through the glove compartment for something to put into the CD slot of the radio. "mj...more mj...nirvana...and...'dangerous youth'? what's that?" his girlfriend's question grabs taesan's attention as the car came to a halt at a red-light. "let me see" he says, grabbing the unfamiliar disc from her. "looks like one of my dad's old mixtapes...looks older than me!" the boy hands the thing back over to the girl, moving the car from parking mode as the light turned green.

"should we put it on?"

it takes a minute for the radio to read the disc, a slight buzzing sound entering their ears at it spun within the machine. it's silent for a moment, the orange-ish light of the music-player blinking the words: track 01. a sense of familiarity hit their spines as the first beat of the song played, followed by infamous lyrics that just about anyone could recognize.

'we don't need no education...'

"oh, pink floyd!" as expected from the boy's music-loving father, the band's hit song of the late 70s, Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2. the rebellious teens bounced their heads to an anthem that fit all too well with their actions right now, the boy's fingers tapping against the wheel and the girl playing an imaginary set of drums while they sang along to the tune.

"hey teacher! leave them kids alone!"

the pair drove for about an hour, not a clue where they were even headed. "there's a cliff around the edge of the street, wanna stop there?" taesan asked, turning to look at yn who was staring out the window. "mhm, we could watch the sunrise"

before long they had arrived by the cliff. the car parked beside the road, and the two of them sitting right beside each other on a small patch of grass. it was well into one o' clock in the morning at that point, the skies still dark and the stars bright as ever, decorating the space around the moon.

"the moon is so pretty, isn't it?" yn says, suddenly moved by the atmosphere. it was quiet and cold outside, the only other sound apart from the pair that stayed awake, was the wispy winds against the crispy leaves. "and it'll never lose it's beauty" her eyes turn away from the shining orb of light and over to his, who had been looking at her the whole time. their breaths are heavy, the beating of their hearts loud enough for the both of them to hear. "yn...can i kiss you?" his simple inquiry of consent was enough to melt all her insides. she looks at him with eyes that shined just as the moon did.

"please"

taesan wasted no time in pulling her close. her hands in his hair as his own travelled down to her waist. their lips found place in each other's just as quickly, leaving no room for air as their tongues danced a pas de deux within the caves of their mouths. yn tumbles forward, pushing his body down onto the grass, never separating from each other, like they've been starved for years before this.

"yn..." he says, his mouth free to speak when she moves over to his neck. the girl stops for a moment, sitting up straight to look him in the eyes again. the boy's mouth opens to continue, "i love you" she smiles, pulling him close again. "i..." she breathes heavily, kissing him more, "love..." their noses hit each other, and the thin hairs on their bodies create fiction; a ticklish feeling rumbling up in her belly.

"...love you too"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"you think they've noticed we're gone by now?" yn asks, fingers swirling around atop his abdomen, her head on his chest as they laid on the grass. "probably" taesan replies, yawning softly as his hands run through his girlfriend's hair. "think they'll never let us see each other again?" this time he giggles, the vibrations of which go straight to the side of her face. "totally"

yn pouts as she sits up, looking down at the smiling boy with a look of sadness. "aw, baby..." he teases, grabbing her hand to pull her back down towards him. "if they do that to us we'll just have to sneak out again, right?" she sighs, "i guess so...'' the couple falls silent as the pale sky turns orange. the bright sun began to rise, signaling the pair that just as the traces of last night started to disappear, so must their youthful rebellion.

"c'mon" the boy says, helping the girl up. the teens entered the car, a deja-vu sort of feeling coursing through their veins as memories of their midnight adventures flashed over their brains. yn yawns this time, reaching forward to grab her phone from the compartment below the radio. "ah!" she winces when the brightness of the screen shocks her sensitive eyes, taesan laughs at her before reaching for his own phone.

"yikes...thirty missed calls and a hundred and two messages..." she sighs, scrolling through the thousands of notifications from her parents last night. the boy beside her scoffs, "only thirty?" he asked exaggeratedly, earning a worried look in return. "try sixty missed calls and two hundred texts...!"

the couple shares a fit of laughter as they came up with about a million different scenarios for their parents' reaction to them returning home. "no, no! my mom would definitely cry!" she'd say, and he'd shake his head. "not as badly as my dad would!"

han taesan and yn ln quieted down, staring out the main window of the vehicle. "think we'll be grounded?" he asked, as if it weren't obvious. "probably" she replied. the pair turned to face each other, identical smiles placed against their lips. the girl leaned in, pulling him by the collar of his sweater to kiss him- and they continued to kiss for another fifteen or so minutes, until they both desperately needed to breathe again. she giggled, as did he, looking at each other happily as they spoke the same two words.

"worth it"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"you know, i thought when they said 'you two will pay for this!' they meant something a lot worse..." yn said, squeezing out the excess soap from her sponge. "yeah...thought they were gonna cage us in our rooms for the rest of our lives and board up our windows or something...but this? this isn't bad at all!" taesan follows, wiping a bit of sweat that dripped down his face. "in fact..." he says, moving to wrap his arms around the girl. "i quite like washing cars with you"

she giggles at his words, closing her eyes when he presses a kiss to her nose. "i quite like it too..." this time they kissed on the lips, the sponges dropped onto the floor, not at all phased by the foam-y soap that got all over their clothes.

"HEY! I SAID CLEAN THE CAR NOT KISS! THAT'S RIGHT, GET BACK TO WORK!" the boy's dad yells from the front door of their home, shocking the teens for a second before they broke out into laughter.

"tsk...those blasted kids"

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

AHHH dangerous is so so good and i love tht mv so so much :3!!! also i actually asked my dad on advice for song choices for tht part when they discover ts' dad's mixtape LMAOO he suggested pink floyd's song and then added tht if it were HIM stealing a car w his gf as a teen it'd be 21+ love songs 😭😭 dad PLS! anyways hope u enjoyed!! reblogs n feedback r so appreciated <3 love, kona.

[wonder-worker]

A central element of the myth of [Eleanor of Aquitaine] is that of her exceptionalism. Historians and Eleanor biographers have tended to take literally Richard of Devizes’s conventional panegyric of her as ‘an incomparable woman’ [and] a woman out of her time. […] Amazement at Eleanor’s power and independence is born from a presentism that assumes generally that the Middle Ages were a backward age, and specifically that medieval women were all downtrodden and marginalized. Eleanor’s career can, from such a perspective, only be explained by assuming that she was an exception who rose by sheer force of personality above the restrictions placed upon twelfth-century women.

-Michael R. Evans, Inventing Eleanor: The Medieval and Post-Medieval Image of Eleanor of Aquitaine

"...The idea of Eleanor’s exceptionalism rests on an assumption that women of her age were powerless. On the contrary, in Western Europe before the twelfth century there were ‘no really effective barriers to the capacity of women to exercise power; they appear as military leaders, judges, castellans, controllers of property’. […] In an important article published in 1992, Jane Martindale sought to locate Eleanor in context, stripping away much of the conjecture that had grown up around her, and returning to primary sources, including her charters. Martindale also demonstrated how Eleanor was not out of the ordinary for a twelfth-century queen either in the extent of her power or in the criticisms levelled against her.

If we look at Eleanor’s predecessors as Anglo-Norman queens of England, we find many examples of women wielding political power. Matilda of Flanders (wife of William the Conqueror) acted as regent in Normandy during his frequent absences in England following the Conquest, and [the first wife of Henry I, Matilda of Scotland, played some role in governing England during her husband's absences], while during the civil war of Stephen’s reign Matilda of Boulogne led the fight for a time on behalf of her royal husband, who had been captured by the forces of the empress. And if we wish to seek a rebel woman, we need look no further than Juliana, illegitimate daughter of Henry I, who attempted to assassinate him with a crossbow, or Adèle of Champagne, the third wife of Louis VII, who ‘[a]t the moment when Henry II held Eleanor of Aquitaine in jail for her revolt … led a revolt with her brothers against her son, Philip II'.

Eleanor is, therefore, less the exception than the rule – albeit an extreme example of that rule. This can be illustrated by comparing her with a twelfth century woman who has attracted less literary and historical attention. Adela of Blois died in 1137, the year of Eleanor’s marriage to Louis VII. […] The chronicle and charter evidence reveals Adela to have ‘legitimately exercised the powers of comital lordship’ in the domains of Blois-Champagne, both in consort with her husband and alone during his absence on crusade and after his death. […] There was, however, nothing atypical about the nature of Adela’s power. In the words of her biographer Kimberley LoPrete, ‘while the extent of Adela’s powers and the political impact of her actions were exceptional for a woman of her day (and indeed for most men), the sources of her powers and the activities she engaged in were not fundamentally different from those of other women of lordly rank’. These words could equally apply to Eleanor; the extent of her power, as heiress to the richest lordship in France, wife of two kings and mother of two or three more, was remarkable, but the nature of her power was not exceptional. Other noble or royal women governed, arranged marriages and alliances, and were patrons of the church. Eleanor represents one end of a continuum, not an isolated outlier."

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

[ content warning: discussion of in-canon sexual abuse ] Maybe it’s just because I’m not too active in the ALNST fandom and mostly observe from afar, but I think this fandom brushed aside way too quickly the fact that Till was sexually assaulted. I have never seen anyone talk in depth about like, what that actually means in terms of his arc and the storytelling of his character. Which I find deeply, deeply upsetting because holy fucking shit.

This man right here has been told, basically his entire life, that not only is he himself not worthy of being treated as a human, but that his body is not his body, but a piece of property that can be owned. And whoever owns his property can use it for whatever, and however they wish. Now, dehumanization is nothing new or unique in this world, obviously. The very concept of Pet Humans is dehumanizing by nature, leaving all six of our main characters as victims to it, even those who are more well-off like Mizi. But Till is a specially fucked up case almost distinctly unlike the rest, because he is actually treated like a fucking dog.

(x) Ivan: If you keep rebelling like that, they won’t ever remove your collar you know? Till: This annoying bastard… — Ivan: I told you so, didn’t I? You didn’t listen? Till: This annoying bastard... (translation courtesy of @leiikos on youtube)

(x)

An unruly animal who needs to be leashed up and put in it’s place. Animals, as is common knowledge, are not on the same level as a human being. But they are ordained to follow the commands of those above them. And if someone (thing) isn’t doing as it is told…

It deserves to be taught better. But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is the mindset that has followed Till his entire life by the ones who were supposed to take care of him. He is not human, even less human than the existing inhuman. He is a pet, even more so than the other pets, an animal. A thing. Property. Something to own. And the best thing about owning something?

You gain the ability to do whatever you want to it. Till’s body was not his from the start. It was used as something to toy around with, experiment with, to train and train and train, presumably for his whole life. His body, his skin, his flesh and bone and blood, it was all nothing more than a plaything. So what if he screams? Just ignore it. Or don’t. If this competition has taught us anything, voices have the most value of all. On top of it being reinforced that Till is not deserving of humanity, he is also not deserving of his bodily autonomy. People are free to do whatever they want with his body because it’s not his body, it’s theirs. And that brings us, finally, to the scene itself

He can’t sing her song, he refuses to. This isn’t the first time he’s refused to do something, far from it actually. What was once an innocent puppy with dilated hope in his eyes has grown into an angry, disobedient mutt. And we know what happens to an animal that refuses to do what they’re told. But there’s something interesting about dogs, or rather about the ones they descended from, the wolf: When the circumstances call for it, they will bite the hand that’s supposed to feed them.

And here is where I intrude to remind you that this is the only time we see anyone physically fighting back against the aliens in the confines of Alien Stage. We see Hyuna and Mizi fucking up aliens in All In, but that was after they had escaped from the cage. And you could make a case for Mizi trying to escape the grasp of the guards that grabbed her in Ruler of My Heart, but from what we saw she didn’t actually lay a hand on them and more so just tried to force herself out of their grasp. though if you disagree with me on that that's fine Here though? Till has this bitch’s face grabbed into his palm with a bottle in hand ready to smash it directly in between it’s eyes. I consider this to be the first act of physical violence shown against the aliens within the uncomfortably tight enclosure. And it’s triggered not because of anything personally done to Till, which on its own could probably fill a list that reaches the ground. But because of the prospect of Mizi being dead. Till knows that this place is shit, that his life is shit. Said so directly on his profile.

Dislikes: Everyone, including Guardian Urak (translation courtesy of @kh47uo on twitter)

But he stays regardless because Mizi is there. If Mizi is dead, Till has absolutely nothing to lose…Right?

I can almost imagine him thinking: There’s nothing you can put me through that’s worse than every other way you’ve hurt me. …But there was. Oh there was.

A final, disgusting message to the pet to put him back in his place. Back on his leash. Making sure he will never forget where he stands for the rest of his days.

And that is really what the sexual assault of Till represents to me. It is a cruel reminder to Till that fighting back is impossible, having hope, being free, it might as well be a fool's fantasy. He will always be less-than-human, less than anything. His body will always be the property of the ones that were supposed to protect him, claimed, and then used used used until it’s worn out and dead.

And the aliens chose to exemplify that fact in the most direct way they possibly could.

So what if he screams? Just ignore it. Or don’t. If this competition has taught us anything, screams have the most value of all

[mothiir]

penance

the black templars discover human women. Nothing nsfw, only vaguely lewd, with canon typical violence and religious themes. Possibly will follow up with a smut if the spirit moves me

alternative summary: where is this strumpet so I might detest her with my own eyes

—

—

Isaiah takes his helm off to inhale the sweet scent of battlefield smoke. The sky is ruddy with dawn, and the last of the heretic cities is nothing more than smouldering rubble, the would-be rebels against the Emperor’s Will either dead or soon to be. Those too young, or too elderly, to have served a meaningful part in the uprising may yet find redemption as Chapter serfs or servitors — after all, there is little point to justice if there is no mercy to go alongside it. 

Sweat gilds his high cheekbones, and drips down his nape. Taking a moment away from his brothers to say his private prayer of thanks to the Emperor is one of the small ways Isaiah keeps his sanity during these long campaigns. He would fight and die beside his brethren with pride — and yet if he has to hear one more of Reuben’s jokes, he may consider —

No. No, none of that, not even in the privacy of his own head: he must be grateful, always. Mindful and grateful of the Emperor’s blessings. Reuben is a blessing. A hardship, yes, but so often blessings take the form of hardships; of lessons to learn. Reuben is an excellent soldier, and an exercise in patience. 

Perhaps it is the thought of Reuben’s damned puns that drives him further than usual, or the desire to admire the sight of a battle hard-fought. Either way, Isaiah ends up a good five hundred feet from camp before he quite realises it, crunching over charred bones and burned, unrecognisable standards.

Then: a sound. Thin, high, and vaguely organic. At once, he replaces his helmet, Captain Ezra’s words echoing in his memory: boy, there is no point prancing around like the main character in a holo — the enemy does not need to see your pretty face, and nor do I.

Anyway. The noise. His scanners alert him to a life form, hidden behind a pile of corpses. Humanoid. Rabbit-hearted, and trying very hard to remain unseen. 

He upholsters his bolter, and stalks forwards: a faceless, merciless instrument of the Emperor’s wrath. 

—

The clouds hang thick and red, like they have absorbed all the blood spilt today, and the heat is oppressive. A thunderstorm is coming; you taste it in the air. Soon, the rain will extinguish the last of the flaming rubble on this planet you once called home. It will fill the empty eye sockets of those who died for the delusions of your rulers. It will wash the land clean. 

And you doubt you will see it. 

As the Templar yanked you from the rubble, your shoulder had popped from its socket with a sick, wet crack; you had only kept yourself from crying out by biting into your tongue. Now your right arm hangs useless by your side, radiating bright veins of sheer agony. You daren’t make a move to cradle it, to ease your discomfort. 

“Your world is guilty of the crime of sedition,” intones the Templar, his voice as final as a tombstone falling into place. “Your leaders rebelled against the Divinity of the Emperor, and —“

”And I should die for it,” you manage, through lips gummed together with dried saliva and ash. “Because we let it happen.”

He pauses. The subtle tilt of his helm could be curiousity; could be an invitation to continue; could be nothing at all. But you are not dead. Not yet. Something in your chest is kindled, and you remember when you were little, at a school now nothing but ash, how your teacher would complain: that girl, she always has something to say.   

“We let it happen,” you continue, not sure if you are arguing for your life or begging for martyrdom. “We saw the upper echelons turn to Ch — the accursed powers.” Thou shalt not speak the name of the beast, you remember reading somewhere, lest thou invite it in to feast. “And we did not stop them. We worked away, heads bent and faces averted, and we obeyed orders, and the rot spread and ruined our world. I — I thank you, for your cleansing fire, for your — for His mercy. For bringing the Light of the Emperor to this place.”

You cannot curtesy, not in this shape, and so you drop straight to the ground, knees smacking into hard stone. You bare your nape, awaiting judgement, awaiting the blade, your heart singing against your ribs, that desperate song, that too-late plea: oh I want to live. Emperor above, let me live. 

—

“That is a woman,” says Reuben, like he has never seen one before. 

”Yes, Reuben, that is a woman.”

“In our dormitory.”

”Yes,” Isaiah says. ”She is in our dormitory.”

As this world lacks any proper infrastructure — due to the intensive bombing campaign needed to bring it back to the Emperor’s Grace — the Astartes have retired to their battle barge, as Marshal Ezra Rothenberg plans their next movements. 

Isaiah is honoured to consider himself part of the Edessan Crusade. There are more than two thousand of his brothers dedicated to the continued extirpation of Chaos from the Edessan system: a task that was predicted to take ten solar years, and yet is proceeding far ahead of schedule — due, in no small part, to the enthusiastic participation of the new recruits Guilliman so kindly provided them. If Guilliman hoped that the Primaris Marines would take the edge off the Black Templar’s well-known zealotry, he was swiftly disappointed. Within a few days of arriving, the only way to differentiate between the new recruits and their more seasoned brothers was size. 

Isaiah shares a barren dorm with Reuben, and three other brothers. They sleep on plain metal bunks, with a rough woollen blanket and a thin pillow. Other Chapters, Isiaiah has heard, are so decadent and spoiled as to have duvets — which are sacks of feathers — and sometimes even something called a mattress? Absurd. He pities his fellow Primaris Marines, shipped out to such degeneracy. He hopes that they can cultivate an appropriate sense of duty and decorum in the older generation. How can anyone value such petty things as comfort when the Emperor’s enemies still draw breath?

You are sitting on Isaiah’s bed, the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes wide. You have not spoken since he brought you here — barely whimpered when he popped your shoulder back into place. 

“…what is her purpose here?” Reuben says. He sits on his own bunk, opposite Isaiah, his afternoon reading (a hagiography of one of the more exciting saints) sprawled forgotten on his lap. 

“Chapter serf,” says Isaiah. 

“Do we need more serfs?”

”Yes. We do. The ones we have are — uh —very devout — “

The pair grimace. The fact that the serfs spend so long in prayer is to be admired, but it doesn’t often leave them much time to perform their duties. Isaiah is sick of doing his own mending because Serf Osric and Serf Jean are once more faint from fasting and all-night vigils to the glory of the Emperor. 

“Did the Marshal allocate her to you?”

Isaiah pulls an interesting series of expressions. ”Not…exactly,” he allows, unwilling to lie, and yet not wanting to admit the truth. “But he has been…busy, of late.”

”Yes. Busy. With crusading against the Emperor’s enemies.”

”Too busy to be concerned with this sort of thing,” Isaiah says, hesitantly, dangling the bait before Reuben, waiting for him to take it. Reuben leans forwards to better observe you. Isaiah feels a strange twist of pride when you don’t cringe from his regard, but meet his dark eyes with your own, your chin tipped up, your fingers curling into the blanket. Then you suddenly seem to remember who you are, and where you are, and drop your head in supplication. 

“Yes,” Reuben says, slowly. “Far too busy to be concerned with this. Don’t want to bother him.”

Isaiah utters a fervent prayer of thanks to the Emperor, feeling only a little guilty at thanking Him for his brother’s aid in deceiving their Marshal. But it wasn’t really deception, was it? They weren’t lying to him at all — they just weren’t telling him! Completely different. 

“Exactly! It’s beneath his concern.”

”She’s beneath his concern!”

In total accord, both Templars grin at each other, before hurriedly smoothing their faces into expressions of solemn piety. 

“Yes, brother. I am glad that the Emperor has seen fit to deliver unto us a — hang on, can you sew?” Reuben says, addressing you directly. You glance up at Isaiah, then stammer:

“Y-yes my lord —“

“Excellent.”

Reuben kicks up and off his bunk, rummages in the steel box that contains all his worldly possessions, then throws a wad of fabric at you. It unfurls into a dozen pairs of socks that look very much worse for wear.

“Start with those. Then my tunic needs restitching — the Emperor’s Most Holy Iconography is starting to get a bit tattered. Then —“

”Brother Reuben, you cannot hog the new serf —“

”I am offering her the chance to redeem the sins of her forefathers and mothers with holy labour.“

“Well, yes,” Isaiah protests. “But the holy labour cannot just be confined to your menial tasks—“

”Why — do you have menial tasks that need attending to?”

”Yes!” Isaiah says, thinking of his own increasing pile of ragged undergarments. “You can mend Brother Reuben’s socks, and then you must attend to my laundry —“

”And then she can mend my tunic —“

”No, then she must pray,” Isaiah says, belatedly remembering the importance of even the most lowly baselines in adding their voices to the Emperor’s endless praises. “And attend chapel —“

”Where Marshal Ezra may behold her?” Brother Reuben says. “The serf that we do not strictly speaking have, as she has not been allocated to us?”

Ah. Yes. He had forgotten about that.

”She must pray while she works,” Isiaih amends. “And abase herself before the Emperor’s mercy.”

”Yes. But pray quietly.”

”Do you know the appropriate psalms to recite while conducting your redemptive labour?” Isaiah says. You chew your lip.

“The correct litanies while uh…mending the socks of the Emperor’s chosen may have not been included in my education,” you say. Isaiah sighs. Truly, you came from a blighted world. 

“You will learn them,” he says. “The Emperor will guide your tongue. If you fail to learn them then it is a sign that you have not received His Grace, and in that case fear not — we will deliver unto you the Emperor’s Mercy.”

“She will learn them,” Brother Reuben says, with a fervent and touching belief in humanity’s dedication to the Emperor.

 Or, perhaps, a fervent desire to have socks without holes in them. 

—

And so it goes. The Emperor sees fit to decree that the brothers that share Reuben and Isaiah’s quarters remain on the planet to build a chapter monastery there, taking advantage of the natural resources that are now free for use. No new brothers are installed in the dormitory — a great shame, of course, but it does have the benefit of ensuring that Brother Reuben and Isiaiah do not have to face awkward questions about your presence. 

Isiaiah has never been in close contact with baseline humans before, save the serfs aboard the fleet, and he knows that it is his duty to ensure that you are free of Chaos’s taint, and suitably devoted to the God Emperor. As such, he ensures that you have the appropriate reading material, and tests you to ensure that you can recite the benedictions. The first time you stumbled over an incorrect word, he had sighed deeply and sorrowfully, reaching for his bolter. Brother Reuben had dragged him to the side and explained — in hurried whispers — that humans do not have the same eidetic memory as Astartes, and the misstep was not indicative of a lapse in faith but simply a sign of your humanity. 

Fascinating. 

There are other baseline issues that surprise both brothers. They sleep perfectly well on their hard metal bed frames, and their serfs often deliberately braid thistles into their blankets in order to better scourge their flesh for the sin of being mortal. You, however, suffer greatly for the first few days. You end up with deep purple shadows beneath your eyes, and you wince when performing even the simplest of tasks. 

“I am sorry my lords,” you stammer, when Isaiah confronts you on your constant yawning. “It is just — I am cursed to be a woman, and thus I do not have the fortitude that you have, and my body is frail and weak and cannot find rest in the blessed conditions that you enjoy.”

Reuben magnanimously permits you the use of a blanket and two of the pillows left by his brothers. Isaiah thinks that pandering to your body’s frailty could well be slowing your path to redemption, but he bows to his brother’s greater knowledge. 

He is perturbed by how much you rest — as much as six hours a night, if you are permitted to sleep continuously. Once again, Reuben explains that this is normal for the baselines. Besides, if Isaiah wants devout serfs, he is more than welcome to once more entrust his care to Osric and Jean. 

Isaiah stops questioning your rest hours swiftly. He does not want to go back to the days of having to convince a flagellant to polish his pauldrons. Without the brothers seeking them out, the old serfs seem happy to spend most of their time in the chapel, or wandering the halls while caning themselves and loudly declaring the Emperor’s benevolence to all. 

Yes, Isaiah wants to say, we know He is very benevolent and very merciful. He also wants you to do your damn jobs. 

The first real challenge occurs ten days into your time aboard the barge. You drop to your knees before Isaiah, assuming the penitential crouch you always take on when you address either of them. The sight of you prostrate at his feet — spine a neat curve, head bowed, hands clasped — always makes Isaiah’s stomach warm and twist. He enjoys seeing you so keen to atone, so eager to please the Emperor, and to receive  His mercy. 

“My lords, I humbly beg your permission to take a moment to clean myself — I have not managed to do so since leaving my accursed planet, and I fear that I dishonour your presence by performing my duties while unwashed.”

”You have washed yourself,” Isaiah says, frowning. He’s seen you wipe your face and underarms with a wet rag, and you wash your hands every time you go to the bathroom (a sensitive experience for all concerned, given that one of them has to escort you to the nearest convenience, and the other has to stand watch to ensure no one sees you).

”Yes, but — a shower, my lords, that is what I am asking for.”

Isaiah sniffs the air thoughtfully. True, you do smell a little sourer than you did previously, but he has lived with far more odiferous people; Brother Reuben during his ‘bathing too frequently is decadent and an offence to the Emperor’ phase for one.

(That particular penitence had been ended when Marshal Ezra had thrown Reuben bodily into the icy plunge pool and announced to all that the Emperor suffered enough on His golden throne — the Templars did not need to add their stench to the tribulations He endured.)

”Humans require more maintenance than Astartes,” Reuben allows. “It cannot hurt to permit her to bathe.”

Still, they do not want to risk taking you to one of the communal showers, nor do they want to send you off to the serf quarters. Several of their brothers are already suspicious of their suddenly-improved attire, and the last thing either of them want is to face questions about your presence — or, worse still, a request to share. So Isaiah fetches a large copper tub used by the medicae for those too unwell to stand upright to bathe, and fills it with water, and Brother Reuben donates one of his scraps of yellow soap. 

“Th-thank you my lords,” you say, from your usual prostrate position; then you stand, a little unsure, eyeing them almost expectantly. The tub is set in the middle of the dormitory; Reuben is reading one of his favourite scriptures, while Isiaiah tends to his bolter. ”Uh — is it okay if I —“

You gesture at your smock. Isiaiah blinks at you. 

“Are you asking permission to bathe? I have said that you may — do not waste my time with needless questions.”

He turns back to his bolter, wiping the sacred oils onto the stock, murmuring the appropriate incantations to appease the machine spirit within. A flurry of fabric; a splash; a pained squeal. 

“This water is ice,” you yell, and Isaiah, startled, looks up. 

His hand remains looped around the bolter, polishing up and down, up and down — but he finds he cannot tear his gaze from you. The water comes up to your waist, but the rest of you is bare, your flesh goosepimpled from the cold, your arms clutching your torso. Your elbows press under your breasts, pushing them up, where they glisten under the harsh dorm lighting. As you shiver, one nipple flashes.

Brother Reuben stares as well. 

“Emperor preserve me,” he mutters, and Isaiah comes to his senses, turning his eyes aside. 

“Woman!” he says, sounding only a little strangled. “Cover yourself!”

Another splash. When Isaiah peeks up — just to check that you have ceased to offend the Emperor with your naked bosom — he is gratified to see that you are neck deep in water.

”S-sorry my lords,” you say, teeth chattering.

”You are a Chapter Serf of the Black Templars,” Isiaha says hotly, his grasp tightening on the bolter, his strokes growing surer and stronger, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. “You must act in a way that is fitting for your station! Do not flaunt yourself so! You must conduct yourself with - with decorum, and modesty. Be demure! Mindful!”

Isaiah, a little breathless after his holy vitriol, looks to Brother Reuben for moral support. Reuben is looking fixedly at his book. 

“I saw nothing,” says the other Templar. “I am blind to that which does not beatify the Emperor Himself. The nudity of a serf has no bearing on my day’s prayer. It is as insignificant as the passage of a beetle along the floor.”

”Is that why you are reading your scripture upside down?”

Reuben does not look up, even as he turns the book the right way around. 

“Brother Isaiah, if you polish that gun any harder it is liable to blast a hole in the wall.”

”It is not loaded, Brother Reuben,” Isaiah snaps. “I am conducting my daily worship to the Machine Spirit.”

”Is that what you call it?” Reuben mutters, and Isaiah elects to ignore him. 

—

“Where did you obtain the uniform for her?” Isaiah says, the next day, his voice hushed. It is just after morning prayer-drills, and the pair are walking back to their dormitory to change, before their lunchtime prayer-drills.

”I — just from the other serf’s laundry,” says Reuben, casting a quick look around. The halls of the battle barge are more akin to that of a cathedral than a space-ship, with huge domed ceilings, and statues placed at regular intervals in well-lit alcoves. Isaiah normally takes great comfort in the stern regard of his immortalised forebears, but for some reason today he feels their gaze like a brand, like he is a neophyte and they are watching him commit some secret and terrible sin. 

“They do not fit her,” Isaiah says. Reuben frowns. 

“What do you mean?”

”I mean — “ Isaiah pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words. Emperor grant him Reuben’s lack of observational skills — truly, his brother is a sterling example of blind faith. “I mean…this morning. When she bent over to pick up the scripture. Her skirt. It — moved in a way that displayed her rump in a way that is most unbecoming to a serf.”

Reuben exhales, his jaw ticking minutely. “Oh? I did not notice. I do not make a habit of looking at the serf’s rear end.”

”I was not looking at her rear end!” Isaiah whisper-shouts. “It was…just there. Wiggling.”

”Wiggling?”

”Yes, wiggling.”

”Is our serf distracting you from your duties, Brother Isaiah?” Reuben says, in a tone of concern so genuine it feels like mockery. 

“No! I just — it would bring shame upon our crusade if our serfs are not modestly attired.”

”I quite agree. However, I would argue that our serf is very well attired. Covered up almost to the throat.”

”Almost,” Isaiah says. “When she bends over to wash her face in the morning, if you stand at the incorrect place in the dormitory, and you have the misfortune to be looking for a book on the other side of the room, and then you find yourself looking downwards at the incorrect moment so you may observe the flagstones, you will be cursed with a view straight down her sleeping smock — and you will see both her breasts, exposed quite fully! It is revolting. A blight upon the Emperor.”

”How hideous! We must of course remedy this at once.”

”At once.”

”However,” says Reuben, as they round a corner, approaching their dormitory. “In order for me to avoid benighting mine eyes with such a distasteful view, I would much appreciate it if next time the serf washes her face you were to demonstrate the precise angle that I should avoid standing at. For I only wish to see what is pure and just in the eyes of the Emperor, and in order to do so we must have a full understanding of where to avoid looking.”

Isaiah pauses for a moment. After all, is it not his duty to guide his brothers when they seek to avoid sin? “Yes,” he says. “I will ensure that I show you most where you must not stand, and where to avoid casting your eyes. And — if I may make a suggestion?”

”Of course, brother Isaiah.”

”Perhaps it is not the uniform. Perhaps it is the way the serf has learned to stand and bend. Coming as she does from such a depraved world, riddled with heresy, it is natural that she does not know the right and proper way for a servant of the Emperor to move. Perhaps we should ask her to bend over a few times for us, and thus we can best advise her on how to avoid unnecessary…wiggling.”

Reuben grins at the thought of guiding a sinner onto the path of the righteous. “Yes, brother Isaiah. I do believe we should.”

[aronarchy]

Why we don’t like it when children hit us back

To all the children who have ever been told to “respect” someone that hated them.

March 21, 2023

Even those of us that are disturbed by the thought of how widespread corporal punishment still is in all ranks of society are uncomfortable at the idea of a child defending themself using violence against their oppressors and abusers. A child who hits back proves that the adults “were right all along,” that their violence was justified. Even as they would cheer an adult victim for defending themself fiercely.

Even those “child rights advocates” imagine the right child victim as one who takes it without ever stopping to love “its” owners. Tear-stained and afraid, the child is too innocent to be hit in a guilt-free manner. No one likes to imagine the Brat as Victim—the child who does, according to adultist logic, deserve being hit, because they follow their desires, because they walk the world with their head high, because they talk back, because they are loud, because they are unapologetically here, and resistant to being cast in the role of guest of a world that is just not made for them.

If we are against corporal punishment, the brat is our gotcha, the proof that it is actually not that much of an injustice. The brat unsettles us, so much that the “bad seed” is a stock character in horror, a genre that is much permeated by the adult gaze (defined as “the way children are viewed, represented and portrayed by adults; and finally society’s conception of children and the way this is perpetuated within institutions, and inherent in all interactions with children”), where the adult fear for the subversion of the structures that keep children under control is very much represented.

It might be very well true that the Brat has something unnatural and sinister about them in this world, as they are at constant war with everything that has ever been created, since everything that has been created has been built with the purpose of subjugating them. This is why it feels unnatural to watch a child hitting back instead of cowering. We feel like it’s not right. We feel like history is staring back at us, and all the horror we felt at any rebel and wayward child who has ever lived, we are feeling right now for that reject of the construct of “childhood innocence.” The child who hits back is at such clash with our construction of childhood because we defined violence in all of its forms as the province of the adult, especially the adult in authority.

The adult has an explicit sanction by the state to do violence to the child, while the child has both a social and legal prohibition to even think of defending themself with their fists. Legislation such as “parent-child tort immunity” makes this clear. The adult’s designed place is as the one who hits, and has a right and even an encouragement to do so, the one who acts, as the person. The child’s designed place is as the one who gets hit, and has an obligation to accept that, as the one who suffers acts, as the object. When a child forcibly breaks out of their place, they are reversing the supposed “natural order” in a radical way.

This is why, for the youth liberationist, there should be nothing more beautiful to witness that the child who snaps. We have an unique horror for parricide, and a terrible indifference at the 450 children murdered every year by their parents in just the USA, without even mentioning all the indirect suicides caused by parental abuse. As a Psychology Today article about so-called “parricide” puts it:

Unlike adults who kill their parents, teenagers become parricide offenders when conditions in the home are intolerable but their alternatives are limited. Unlike adults, kids cannot simply leave. The law has made it a crime for young people to run away. Juveniles who commit parricide usually do consider running away, but many do not know any place where they can seek refuge. Those who do run are generally picked up and returned home, or go back on their own: Surviving on the streets is hardly a realistic alternative for youths with meager financial resources, limited education, and few skills.

By far, the severely abused child is the most frequently encountered type of offender. According to Paul Mones, a Los Angeles attorney who specializes in defending adolescent parricide offenders, more than 90 percent have been abused by their parents. In-depth portraits of such youths have frequently shown that they killed because they could no longer tolerate conditions at home. These children were psychologically abused by one or both parents and often suffered physical, sexual, and verbal abuse as well—and witnessed it given to others in the household. They did not typically have histories of severe mental illness or of serious and extensive delinquent behavior. They were not criminally sophisticated. For them, the killings represented an act of desperation—the only way out of a family situation they could no longer endure.

- Heide, Why Kids Kill Parents, 1992.

Despite these being the most frequent conditions of “parricide,” it still brings unique disgust to think about it for most people. The sympathy extended to murdering parents is never extended even to the most desperate child, who chose to kill to not be killed. They chose to stop enduring silently, and that was their greatest crime; that is the crime of the child who hits back. Hell, children aren’t even supposed to talk back. They are not supposed to be anything but grateful for the miserable pieces of space that adults carve out in a world hostile to children for them to live following adult rules. It isn’t rare for children to notice the adult monopoly on violence and force when they interact with figures like teachers, and the way they use words like “respect.” In fact, this social dynamic has been noticed quite often:

Sometimes people use “respect” to mean “treating someone like a person” and sometimes they use “respect” to mean “treating someone like an authority” and sometimes people who are used to being treated like an authority say “if you won’t respect me I won’t respect you” and they mean “if you won’t treat me like an authority I won’t treat you like a person” and they think they’re being fair but they aren’t, and it’s not okay.

(https://soycrates.tumblr.com/post/115633137923/stimmyabby-sometimes-people-use-respect-to-mean)

But it has received almost no condemnation in the public eye. No voices have raised to contrast the adult monopoly on violence towards child bodies and child minds. No voices have raised to praise the child who hits back. Because they do deserve praise. Because the child who sets their foot down and says this belongs to me, even when it’s something like their own body that they are claiming, is committing one of the most serious crimes against adult society, who wants them dispossessed.

Sources:

“The Adult Gaze: a tool of control and oppression,” https://livingwithoutschool.com/2021/07/29/the-adult-gaze-a-tool-of-control-and-oppression

“Filicide,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Filicide

[vigilskeep]

now that you finished inquisition, what did you think of it? like favorite things, least favorite, etc?

oh man okay

things i love about dragon age inquisition:

capturing the specific feeling of bonding with a group of people you have absolutely nothing in common with because u all had to go through something long and specific together

the maps can be so pretty and in places really calming and lovely to spend time in. it does make me want to explore and i have no explorer’s instinct

i love the war table and judgements i think those are really fun features

i like that approval for many major decisions applies to everyone regardless of who you bring to specific events/quests. it feels a lot less like you have to manage that really hard, as you sometimes do in the other games and also really noticeably to me in something like baldur’s gate 3. it’s irritating when i have to plan ahead and can’t take who i want to hear from

i like how attached you can get to little npcs who wander around

i loveeeee fighting dragons and how beautiful they all are

little puzzles <3

the collectibles are also mostly fine by me i am a magpie by nature. as long as i can find them, obviously, bc if i can’t they suck and this whole game sucks

the templar specialisation is fun and i enjoyed that part of combat a lot. wrath of heaven/spell purge combo is a power trip

i thought my character was pretty :) i defeated u in the end dai character creator. may you be as merciful when we meet in battle once more

i’m not a huge crafter but being able to tint things is rlly nice

blackwall’s romance is good

vivienne is there

they let me briefly tame a dragon at the end there

things i don’t love about dragon age inquisition:

some genuine cruelty in writing the dalish in a way that feels shockingly callous to the real world cultures the writers took inspiration from

never giving the dalish or the rebel mages any kind of voice of their own and making the player do all that work if they care, which i also feel limits my roleplaying creativity

refusing to let you challenge any of the often overwhelmingly conservative views expressed by other characters without receiving only derision and disapproval. inquisition is a game that punishes you at every turn for having your own opinions, in a way that could be interesting if it was willing to truly let you develop complex or antagonistic relationships with those characters, but ends up mostly just feeling mocking when nobody ever even tries to see your side, while simply agreeing with these people always rewards you with content. origins was capable of letting you engage in discussion, and da2 let you form rivalries that mattered; inquisition, despite starring some of the most intentionally controversial characters, does neither

the game engineering conflicts against groups like the freemen of the dales or the avvar that mean nothing to the player and range from vaguely to seriously upsetting in their assumptions about who it’s normal to just start killing en masse. it’s both boring and distressing

odd, for lack of a better word “casting choices”, like having the fantasy impoverished racial minority all be white within the party while the wealthiest and most privileged are characters of colour, or for a more in-world example having the elves express the most distaste towards elves and the mages express the most caution about mages. i don’t know that i quite have the vocabulary to fully discuss why these weird me out, but it all feels... disingenuous? and chosen to forestall criticism based on real world comparisons in a game series that i wish had the nerve to openly confront what it’s talking about if it’s going to try to make any of its conflicts feel relevant

most of the companions, and indeed most of the quests and time spent playing the game, feel disconnected from the main plot. it’s hard to feel any pressure when the game tells you we need to deal with the main plot “right now!” and “get there before corypheus!” when the bulk of the game is doing other things while you’re supposed to be doing that. the majority of companions could be cut without changing anything. and when you finally want to deal with the main plot you just click to start it. it’s not engaging

the game fails to fully expand dialogue for the player character options it provided, particularly notable with its confusing chantry focus when you’ve said for the dozenth time you’re not andrastian

the 2-handed weapon whirlwind ability sound effect is an exercise in creating the worst and most grating sound effect for someone to constantly hear

they didn’t let me romance vivienne

they killed my dragon :(

[tatsumessy]

Hidden feeling - {Itoshi Sae}

“So Itoshi, there’s just one more question I’d like to ask that almost everyone here has been waiting for.” The interviewer cleared her throat and placed the notecards down on her lap fully turning her attention to Sae. You were sitting in his dressing room watching the interview live off the tv silently praying that your boyfriend of five years wouldn’t cuss this woman out. He’s been waiting for this interview to finish ever since it started and you could tell from his face that he was getting aggravated.

“Well it’s about your ‘relationship’ with y/n.” You flinched and started clenching your hands together. “Why the quotations? It’s not a ‘relationship’ likes it’s make believe or something. My girlfriend of five years. What about her?” He quickly rebelled not letting her finish, a tang of guilt shot through your chest but you chose to ignore it. “We did a survey last week comparing your type along with who we think you’d be with. Or how do I put it, someone everyone thinks you should be with. You said you and y/n have been dating for five years, you must not like her enough to want to marry her…” she leaned forward showing off her breast while casually caressing his arm.

As you watched their little interaction the little pang in your chest got worse and your hand was starting to bleed from how hard your nails were digging into your palm. This wasn’t anything new, Sae would always go to these interviews and the interviewer would always sneak in these questions and doubts about your relationship while also sneaking in rude and insulting comments about you. There’s nothing for you to do about it, you just sit there and take it because at the end of the day Sae always chooses you.

“Miss…” “hmm?” You responded keeping your gaze on the tv just watching them two. “You’re bleeding, he’s going to kill me if you got hurt under my watch.” Sae’s assistant said running over and opening your hands to see the damage, tears brimmed in her eyes as she scrambled to grab bandages. “Thank you.” You said watching her finish the wrapping and at the same exact moment everyone gasped at the tv at something that was said. “What happened?” You asked sitting forward, “she just called you a broke background slut whose only with Itoshi for his money.” Pausing for a moment you looked down at your hand then back up at everyone with a gentle smile on your face.

“It’s okay guys…if her comments aren’t hurting me then they shouldn’t be hurting you. She’s not even talking about you so don’t let it faze you.” You finished with a smile, after a second all of your flinched hearing the door open aggressively and Sae walked in ripping off all the wires and microphones from his body. “Let’s go, we’re leaving.” He said throwing the stuff on the seat next to you and grabbing your hand to help you stand up. “What happened to your hands?” He paused, “nothing just some small cuts.” He sighed and pulled you out the studio and towards the car. He helped you get in then closed the door once you were comfortable.

The ride home was silent, and the rest of the night was even more quieter. After the interview you were supposed to go on a date but obviously that didn’t happen because of how upset Sae was and you didn’t mind. He always ends up making it up to you, but that wasn’t the reason you were laying in bed right now wide awake. Sae had his back turned to you and he was fast asleep while you laid there with your eyes glossed over. You were about to start sobbing crying all because of what that lady said today, knowing sae had to get up early in the morning you quietly removed yourself from the bed and went into the living room to calm yourself down.

There’s no reason you should be crying over a couple of comments, it’s not like she physical put her hands on you. But she was bold enough to basically grope Sae on live tv in front of the whole world. Leaning your head back against the couch you closed your eyes feeling your warm tears slide down your cheeks and fall onto your shoulders. After a few minutes of being left alone with your thoughts Sae’s voice broke you out of your trance. “Y/n ?” Your eyes flew open and you jumped leaning forward while wiping your face, thank goodness the lights were still off and he could t see how red and puffy your eyes were.

“Why aren’t you sleeping? You know we have to get up early in the morning.” He stayed standing behind the couch staring at your dark silhouette, “you’re right. I’m coming, let me get some water and then I’ll meet you in the ro-om.” Silently cursing yourself for your voice cracking, you stood up and starting walking towards the kitchen but Sae’s grip on your wrist stopped you. He reached over and flipped the light switch to get a better look at you, “what’s wrong?” He still had the same neutral expression but you could tell in his voice that he was worried.

He didn’t like seeing you cry, out of the five years you two had been dating he’s only seen you cry once and that was when your father died. So to see you trying to hide away from him to cry kind of hurts his pride, it’s like you don’t trust him enough to confide in him. “Nothing, I just had something in my eye.” You said trying to laugh it off while idly rubbing your eye, he rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is it about what she said? About the marriage thing?” You cocked your head to the side in confusion.

“I was gonna propose last night after the interview but she pissed me off so much that I didn’t want to have you deal with my attitude during our date.” A small blush formed on his cheek as he confessed his plans to you, “Sae it’s not about a proposal. I don’t care if we don’t get married for another twenty years. I love you enough to wait…I just needed a moment.” “From?” He asked moving pieces of your messy hair from your face. “I don’t know, what she said really got to me, and it’s like…if she thinks that and will openly flirt and touch you knowing I’m watching then so does everyone else in the world. They don’t see me as your girlfriend, so what if one day you don’t see me as it either anymore yourself?”

A tear slid down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away hiding your sadness with a gentle smile. “Just forget I said anything.” He stared at you with that unimpressed neutral expression and it just made you feel little under his gaze. “Princesa, you are my entire world and I wouldn’t have been the man I am today without your help. Do you understand that my love? I love you.” He said caressing the sides of your cheeks with his thumbs, “sae I told you it’s fine. You don’t have to tell me you love me.” He pulled away slightly looking a little offended.

“Why are you saying that like I don’t love you?” “I- it’s just that you never say it so I never want to assume how you feel about me.” You said looking down at the ground not wanting to make eye contact with him. You couldn’t stop yourself, the words just came out. The two of you stayed silent for a while until he broke the silence, “go to bed. we can talk in the morning.” Opening your mouth to say something you quickly realized that Sae didn’t want to talk, your hand interlaced with his and you held him back from walking further.

“I didn’t mean anything rude by what I said. You have a hard time expressing your feelings and I understand that, I would never pin that against you. With everything going on with your career I want to be a supportive girlfriend so I don’t or shouldn’t have time to be crying over mean comments…but when I do, I just don’t want to bother you because it doesn’t mean anything. All they do is talk and at the end of the day I’m grateful to be in the position I’m in with your right now. I love you Sae and I know you love me.” You said smiling with several tears falling from your closed eyes.

A heartbeat of a moment passed and before you knew it Sae had his lips in yours and he was engulfing your whole embrace. He didn’t think you could do anything to make him fall in love with you more but you did. “Don’t ever cry by yourself again. We can’t get married if you don’t even trust me enough to share your burdens with me.” He kissed the top of your head gently smiling at the nod of approval from you then bent down slightly to pick you up and carry you back to the bedroom.

“Now really, let’s go to sleep. We have to get up in three hours to catch this flight.” You nodded and cuddled up against his figure.